


Fancymilk

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Disparate Biology, F/M, Lighthearted, Multichapter, Romantic Comedy, Sensitive bones, Sexual Tension, Sweaty Interspecies Shenanigans, Undyne/Alphys - Freeform, alcohol tw, w.d gaster/sans - Freeform, wacky japes with the skeleton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Monsters are here and you don't know what's going on anymore. No longer shocked at the fact that you sometimes spot sentient jellyfish and giant talking animals walking down the street, you decide to head to the hip new bar in town.You meet someone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to do a multichapter /reader fic! i hope you enjoy it! ^^ it's not especially serious

 

It had been a long day.

Not in the literal sense, of course. Every day was as long as the previous, but the previous hadn’t dragged in the same manner today had decided to. A day at work in which nothing seemed to be worked upon, a lunch that was tasteless, a delightful stray cat you had bumped into that had really lifted the tone of the whole day which was then undone by a drunk man on the bus picking a fight with his ex wife, who didn’t happen to be there, and so he had made the decision to instead shout loudly at nothing for forty five minutes. Fuck you Sandra, apparently. You needed to unwind, and desperately. Books? No, reading was for nerds. Television? You weren’t in the mood. Going out?

You pondered on the healthiness of drinking away your problems before it occurred to you that the worry itself could be quieted with drinking, which then led you to believe it was a fantastic idea and should be acted upon at once. Not alone, however, that’s depressing. Alone outside was where it was at. A large space dedicated entirely to drinking alone, outside, in what could at first glance be considered a group to outsiders. Now there was a thought.

Your mind wandered to the bar that had opened up near your home. New bars didn’t have time to be scummy! With any luck, you could enjoy a nice, quiet drink by yourself, without fearing that the bathroom doors had been removed after a cavalcade of incidents. You could ride out the wave of nice paint and pleasant staff until it became a shithole, and then leave. Good times. Plans decided. You had tomorrow off, anyway. The place seemed pretty nice, but you had only seen the building from the outside during the day. It seemed faux-classy, but you could deal with faux-classy.

‘Grillby’s; Reloaded’.

You decided that the person who came up with this name is a massive tool, and should be slapped at once.  

You showered, dressed, ate something you hoped was a full and balanced meal (it was not) and went out for the night. Who knows! Depending on how the night went, you might not be coming back to your apartment tonight.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was pretty neat seeing Monsters out and about, you thought, waiting in line. Different, certainly. Unusual. A reminder that magic exists, which far from being a romantic concept you had thought it would be as a child was instead a disappointing one because it meant that it was _possible_ for you to fire lightning from your hands, but you couldn’t because you were you.

It occurred to you that you were, in fact the only Human in line.

You peeped your head out.

No, this was absolutely the case. You had zoned out, and somehow neglected to notice the growing line of Monsters behind you.

… This was a Monster bar. Oh. Was this in bad taste? Were you intruding? Would it be like in the old westerns, walking into the saloon and having everyone go silent and stare? You couldn’t handle saloon staring. But you also wanted to see what was inside. Check out the place and if it’s awkward, leave. Simple enough.

You were stopped by a massive jellyfish creature, pulsing and undulating and shimmering hideously in the air, wearing a small black tie and a sunglasses held on with tape.

“If you want into the bar,” it quivered, “answer my riddles three.”

You gawked at both the fact it had stopped you, and the fact it seemed to be pulsing a colour that you didn’t know previously existed.

“Excuse me?”

“Bar, drinks, riddles three. Simple system, lady.”

God, fine, whatever. There better be liquid gold on tap for the trouble. Must be a Monster thing.  

“You have three stoves: a gas stove, a wood stove, and a coal stove, but only one match. Which should you light first?”

You thought for a moment.

“... The match?”

“Bingo.”

You stared at each other. At least, you assumed he was staring. You were following where its sunglasses were pointing, but you didn’t see eyes.

“... What about the other riddles? Can I... go in now?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t know the answer?”

“Let you in.”

“ _What._ ”

“Yeah, I like asking the Humans riddles to screw with ‘em, don’t get many here. Three riddles? Really? Pfft. Start any funny business and I haul you out.”

You grumbled, walking in, hearing it shout ‘hey Suzanne, another one fell for it!’ to the other bouncer further down the line.  

The place was immaculate, bar a rabbit woman laying in a pool of her own vomit in one of the booths, but it wasn’t really a bar without someone doing that. Warm, gleaming wood and pleasantly dim lighting, enough that you didn’t have to strain, but enough that it gave the place an air of intimacy. As if you had been here before, and planned on coming here again. It had moved, in your mind, from faux-classy to somewhat-classy. You spotted a free stool next to the bar and manoeuvred through the crowd, glad there hadn’t been a ‘saloon moment’.

You saw the bartender, the only one there it seemed. He didn’t look at you, intent on cleaning his glass. He also happened to be aflame. 

You cleared your throat politely.

He was still cleaning.

You asked if he was Grillby, and he gave you the slightest raise of the brow that you took to mean ‘of course I fucking am, look at me’. He held your gaze, waiting for your order.

“Surprise me,” you said, putting on the air of someone that did this a lot.

He reached for a glass bottle of ketchup.

“Not that much.”

He put it back. Draping his towel over his shoulder, he rolled up his sleeves and carefully reviewed the alcohol behind him, taking off his glasses. He seemed to come to a conclusion, and he set to work.

You tried to ignore the fact that he was on fire and in the middle of handling alcohol, an act which either spoke of his skill as a bartender or extremely dangerous arrogance. But the next bar was a two minute walk away and you were lazy, so you hoped he wouldn’t sneeze and kill you all in a massive, hilarious explosion. Nobody else seemed to be worried, which spoke well of him.  

After several flourishes that seemed to be for his own benefit rather than yours he had constructed a cocktail, before snapping his fingers and setting it on fire.

You bemoaned that you had tried to be sophisticated and felt this was probably going to be expensive. Before you could ask him what the damage was, you were cut off by a wall of noise to your left, slicing through the low, indistinct murmur.

“GRILLBY? A FANCYMILK, PLEASE.”

You turned to face it, and found yourself staring at a very large, very loud skeleton. You almost choked on your drink. You didn’t even know that could happen, how could a Monster look like a _skeleton?_  

You watched Grillby pour him a large Irish cream, before adding a silly straw.

“THANK YOU!”

He shot you a pleasant smile, pulling out his wallet and handing over a wad of cash. Grillby tallied it and gave him the change, and you watched with fascination as his bones somehow moved despite the lack of muscular structure. You stopped, however. It was rude to stare.  

“HUMAN.”

You looked up at him. Oh boy. Here we go. Time for an argument with a stranger.

“... Yes?”

“I’M VERY MYSTERIOUS, AND ALOOF.”

You blinked, waiting for him to continue with the statement. He didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you in a matter of fact manner, sockets knit in what you guessed was resolve.

“... Pardon?”

“MYSTERIOUS. AND ALOOF.”

And with that he gave you a curt nod and left with his drink to resume his place at his table, the shorter skeleton opposite him giving you a quick once over before resuming the conversation. You had no idea what he was talking about, or how to engage, so you didn’t. If anything, the exchange had left you confused.

You shook it off before pulling out your purse, to which Grillby refused.

It occurred to you that your drink had already been paid for.


	2. Chapter 2

Having nursed your flaming cocktail (after blowing it out, a fourth degree burn and a skin graft was _not_ on the agenda for tonight) you decided to have a look around in a tasteful manner. Grillby was still tending to his duties as bartender, and you wondered how he kept on top of it all, especially at night, on a weekend, by himself. You considered asking him how he could wear shirts without them burning off, but decided it was insensitive, and thus did not. Instead, you mulled on the potential possibilities. Maybe the fire wasn’t hot? No, no you could feel him from here. His presence was doing a number on your pores, you knew it.

… You were at a point in your life where you could see a man made of literal, honest to god fire and not be concerned anymore. Not even antipathy.

Yesterday, you saw a giant, sentient onion purchasing groceries. Magic was real, Monsters were real, some could shoot lasers with their minds, and you watched a massive onion purchase many smaller onions. You didn’t know for what reason. Either for reproduction, soup, or some sort of horrifying mix.

You wondered how magic worked, exactly. Was it personality that dictated what you got? Genetics? You had been left with an unusual mole, meanwhile that nice amoeba lady down the street would accidentally start fires with her mind when she tended to her plants. You would swap the mole, if she asked.    

You shot a glance to the skeleton that had paid for your drinks and found that he was dancing in his booth despite the music having faded out minutes ago, and found his brother (cousin? Dad?) clapping along to whatever beat he had imagined. You, once again, considered starting a conversation but struggled to think of things to talk about. He looked like he was getting into it. You continued watching him absently, giving him a polite ‘thank you’ nod when his gaze caught yours.

He quickly looked away before sipping at his Irish cream, and you assumed you had made a faux pas. You were going to leave well enough alone. You didn’t want to be creepy.  

Perhaps the sheer force of your tits had overwhelmed Grillby’s senses and caused him to give you a free drink? You did have notoriously strong tits. This could have been a big misunderstanding. Twink Skeletor over there might have just been nearby. Either way, you wouldn’t complain.

You ordered another drink, in the mood to get comfortably buzzed.

 

* * *

 

You were piss-drunk which meant it was a good time to leave. You threw your jacket on, picked up your handbag and teetered off. You tossed another glance to Mr. Bonejangles and found that he looked back. You were also on the verge of vomiting, so you hastened your exit.

After passing the jellyfish bouncer (who was in the process of asking another Human ‘some months have thirty days, some months have thirty one days; how many have twenty eight?’) you began the walk home, making sure to stick to well lit paths and-- oh God you were being dragged by your arm into an alleyway. You managed to wrench your arm away.  

“Gimmie your money.”

 _Great_.

You looked at the mugger, pasty and tall. If he hadn’t been holding a knife you would have thought you were being mugged by a carton of milk. Rationally, you knew you should give him the money, but you liked having it, and also fuck this guy, you were drunk and therefore invincible.

“I was having a good night tonight, y’know? Can you just-- can you give me a break?”

He looked baffled. This was not part of the pre-established mugging script.

“What the fuck-- no! I have a knife!”

“I know.”

“You have to do what I say, I-- _I_ have the knife, give me your money.”

Oh, you really didn’t want to get stabbed, but as your heart pounded it ran through your mind that he had been given ample opportunity to gut you and was probably making a conscious decision not to.

It was time to pull out the desperate measures. You felt your palms sweat and your mouth run dry. You promised to yourself that if you were going to vomit tonight, it would be on this guy.

“If you want my purse,” you slurred, watching the knife and mulling over every regret you ever had, including this one, “you’ll have to answer my riddles three.”

He looked at you, squinting, like he was watching his housepets eat each other.

“... So are you stupid, or suicidal, or… Are you both? Gimmie your fuckin’ money.”

Dammit. Well, that was tonight ruined. You reached for your handbag to pull out your purse, considering the option of tossing the change in his eyes and beating his balls to a tenderized mulch. You could walk back into the bar to call the police, Grillby seemed nice enough. You couldn’t have a drink after this, of course, both out of nerves and the fact that your entire body would be peppered with holes and any alcohol consumed would probably drop right out of them and all over the nice flooring. In a cosmic sense, your drink hadn’t been free at all.

Your purse was not there.

Uh oh.

“I… It was in my purse. It’s not here.”

“Liar.”

You came up with a cunning plan. You would tell him you would get your purse, go inside, and blab. Blab like there was no tomorrow.

“... I left it in the bar. Can you wait here?”  

“What the fuck-- _no!_ You’ll go inside and blab. Just-- dammit-- give me whatever cash you’ve got.”

This man’s cunning was unprecedented.

“ _It’s all in the purse_.”

“ _Don’t bullshit.”_

You went rooting through your pockets to fetch the pennies and stick of gum, when you once again encountered a wall of noise from behind you.

“ _YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW YOU HOODIE WEARING MISCREANT! IT’S NOT EVEN COLD!”_

Had your assailant's eyes went wider, his eyeballs would have tumbled out of his skull.

“What the _hell is that--_ ”

You followed his gaze, just as confused as he was, and watched as Twink Skeletor broke into a sprint, leapt upon the nearest industrial sized dumpster with graceful bounds and performed a devastating elbow drop on the mugger’s trachea, flattening him entirely. You stood there, stunned as he grabbed the mugger in a headlock, bracing against the retaliatory blows against his spine until they petered off. You saw the knife on the concrete, and watched Skinny Boneguy scoot it away with his foot. You questioned if this man was, in fact, a Monster, or the bones of Macho Man Randy Savage animated through dark necromantic rituals.

“Oh God,” the mugger wheezed, nearly foaming at the mouth, pale skin tinting red until he looked like an overcooked ham. “Oh my God! You’re Death, aren’t you-- this is-- this is for all the muggings, right?”

Something came across Bonedude’s features, and it almost looked like an idea.

“... YUP!”

“Oh my God, forgive me!”

“MAYBE.”

“I--I’ll stop, I’ll change my life! I just-- God, don’t kill me bro!”  

The skeleton proceeded to rattle his bones in a manner you didn’t know skeletons actually did. He then appeared to get his wires crossed and went ‘OOOOOH!’ like a wailing ghost, but luckily the mugger he had restrained was too scared out of his wits to notice the discrepancy. He tightened the headlock.

“SAY SORRY.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

“I’m so sorry! Just-- _my neck!_ ”

“TELL HER SHE LOOKS NICE!”

“What are you _talking about-- argh, God, you look nice!_ ”

Elbowdrop Bonepunch rolled his sockets in exasperation, not breaking a sweat.

“I MEAN, IF YOU’RE GOING TO PAY SOMEONE A COMPLIMENT, BE SPECIFIC.”

“I like your hair!”

The skeleton looked at you, nodding, whilst your mind struggled to process what the fuck you were witnessing.

“HE LIKES YOUR HAIR.”

“I like your hair!”

“I LIKE YOUR HAIR.”

“ _We like your hair, please, Jesus!”_

You began to speak. You were not sure if this was real life. There was a chance you had passed out on the bar stool and this was one of those drunkdreams.

“Uh…”

You had no idea what the appropriate etiquette was for this situation. You looked to the mugger, who appeared as if he was going to lapse into unconsciousness any moment from now.

“... Thank this guy for… Buying my drink?”

“You people are _maniacs!”_

“TELL HER IT WAS MY PLEASURE,” said the Calcified Battletwink.

“Why can’t you two talk like normal people,” he sobbed, “why can’t you two talk like normal people--”

You started to feel bad for him, but remembered that he had tried to steal your money, so screw this guy. He stopped trying to escape and went totally limp.

“What do you _want_ from me, dude?”

“GO DO SOMETHING NICE!”

“Like _what?_ ”

“I DON’T KNOW. ADOPT AN OLD PERSON, OR HELP A CAT ACROSS THE STREET. GENTLY CRADLE A HEDGEHOG. NICE PEOPLE THINGS THAT DON’T INVOLVE SWITCHBLADES THAT AREN’T EVEN _SHARP_ , YOU COULDN’T CUT BUTTER WITH THAT.”

“It was a gift!”

“IT WASN’T A VERY GOOD ONE, BUT I HOPE THE THOUGHT WAS NICE.” 

“It was,” he wept, “it was, it was a birthday present, _please_ let me go!”

He did and the man bolted like a greyhound out of the gate, turning to make sure he wasn’t being followed and stumbling the first few feet before sprinting away. Skeletonguy rose to his full height, and you got a sense of just how imposing he actually was.

“OUTWITTED _AND_ OUTPUNCHED. TWO OF MY BEST QUALITIES ON DISPLAY.”

He undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt and popped his collar.

“THREE,” he said, producing a travel sized bottle of cologne from his front pocket and delicately misting himself.   

You were left staring at each other in awkward silence, and you watched him quietly despair over the state of his jeans, dusting them off and picking the grit out of his metacarpals.

“I’M GLAD I FOLLOWED YOU.”

You immediately became alarmed, ready to shed your heels and flee now that the prospect of being stabbed wasn’t on the table.

“... You followed me out of a _bar? Alone?_ ”

He furrowed his browbone, before he lifted it with such force that it almost shot off of his face.

“ _OH!_ OH, NOTHING LIKE _THAT!_ I’M NOT ONE OF THOSE SCARY METAPHORICAL MONSTERS, I’M THE FUN SPOOKY LITERAL SORT. YOU FORGOT YOUR PURSE.”

He handed it over and you were entirely dazed, the whole night feeling like a dream. Your whole body sunk in relief.

“CAN YOU GET HOME OK?”

“U-Uh, yeah. Thank you. For getting my purse, and… Elbow dropping that guy?”

“MY FRIEND MADE ME WATCH TWELVE HOURS OF WRESTLING ONCE. SHE LOVES THAT STUFF,” he chirped.

You squinted, wondering how he could be so chipper considering what had happened.

“Is that guy really hurt?”

“OH NO, I’M A PACIFIST!”

“You wrestled that weirdo until he cried.”

He held his chin.

“... I MEAN, IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS. HE DIDN’T DIE, OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. HE’LL JUST BE A LITTLE RATTLED.”

He tittered.

“DO… DO YOU GET IT.”

“... Oh!”

“BECAUSE I’M A SKELETON.”

You laughed as well, amused, but wanting to go home.

“DO YOU NEED A LIFT ANYWHERE?”

You politely declined, not wanting to impose on him any more than you already had. You were already close to your home.  

“DO YOU WANT TO CALL THE POLICE?”

You again declined, as you would have no idea where to even begin and quite frankly you just wanted to sleep. You did want something from him, however.

“What’s your name?”

He bowed extravagantly, and you wondered if he was high on something.

“I... CAN’T TELL YOU!”

_“... Why?”_

“BECAUSE I’M MYSTERIOUS AND ALOOF.”

You went to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but his statement was made, his ego stroked and mugger wrestled, he turned on his heels and sprinted away in a manner he probably thought was very cool and enigmatic despite his lean form making him look like he had been lobbed like a javelin. He tripped on the last garbage can, scurried up and continued sprinting away.

“IGNORE THE PART WHERE I FELL!”

He vanished around the corner. You wanted to see him again.

You did, one month later.


	3. Chapter 3

After two weeks you returned to Grillby’s.

You liked the place. Apart from the fact you had nearly been killed it had been a pleasant evening, but since everything had its flaws so you decided to take it on the chin. It wasn’t the bar’s fault you had been accosted, it was the mugger’s, and you imagined he was tearfully signing the paperwork necessary to open a hedgehog sanctuary. You still couldn’t believe he bought it, the Death thing. But then again you had seen Skeleton Man dancing it up in a pink dress shirt minutes beforehand so he really wasn’t all that threatening to you. Had he come barrelling towards you in a dark alleyway then the pinkness of his shirt and funkiness of his moves would be eclipsed by the fact that he looked like a clean-picked corpse. That smelled like cologne.    

You saw Hulk Bonegan’s brother (you assumed) sleeping in one of the booths. Was this guy… Homeless, or something? It wasn’t as if the bar was an easy place to fall asleep in. Stranger still was that Grillby seemed to have a perfectly clear line of sight and yet didn’t care that a skeleton was sleeping in one of his booths. You watched him wake up, slowly realise where he was, root around in his pockets for something, and make his way to the counter. You could hear him, if you strained, but you tried to remain tactful in your snooping.

“bloody mary; hold the vodka, salt and sauce.”

… Tomato juice. That was tomato juice.

Grillby poured him a glass before going to add the celery.

“grillby. you keep that stuff out of my drink. it’s barbaric. celery. you think that little of me, dude?”

Grillby gave him a wry, almost pained look, then gave him the glass. The skeleton immediately began rooting in it for ice cubes, popping them in his mouth to crunch as he made his way back to his sleeping booth. Casually, making sure that you didn’t stare, you watch him sit down, down the glass in one, and then tumble into unconsciousness as if he had been beaten over the back of the head with a bludgeon. That couldn’t be healthy. You waited for his skeleton companion to appear, to thank him properly for preventing your inevitable drunken stabbing and to perhaps buy him a drink in repayment. You sipped your drink (it wasn’t the fancy cocktail you ordered last time, you didn’t want to  _haemorrhage_ money), hoping, but not on the edge of your seat. You were here to unwind, first and foremost. It was only a slight disappointment when he didn’t appear.

 

* * *

 

You really fancied some eggs. Hot, runny eggs with buttered toast. Poached, boiled, fried, scrambled in a cup in the microwave. Eggs. You shambled out of bed, hit your foot on the door on the way to the kitchen and swung open the fridge, blazing with triumph-- you were out of eggs.

You closed the fridge and mulled on the possibilities.

… Cereal! You fancied some cereal. Not the breakfast of champions, certainly, but it was filling and tasty enough. Gently baking with triumph, you opened the fridge and-- you had no milk.

Since you had apparently made the unconscious decision to live as a fourteenth century peasant, you decided to have some toast  _but_ with the luxury of butter. Lucky you. Like a damp squib of triumph you wrenched open the fridge to collect the butter, placed it on your counter and found you were out of bread.

You pinched your nose, cursed yourself, then began the process of getting ready to go to the store.

 

* * *

 

Groceries procured and plastic bags gouging into your fingers like a torture device, you walked out into the cool, dewy morning air, watching the sky turn a shade that was beautiful, but also extremely bright, which wasn’t doing much for your not-quite-a-hangover-but-certainly-a-close-associate of a hangover. You wished nature could tone down its grand, vivid splendour for five seconds while you walked home with your impending breakfast. You made your way through the sparse foot traffic, zoning out and shifting your fingers.

You came to a crossing and glanced at the opposite end, waiting for traffic to stop, and couldn’t help but notice the seven foot tall skeleton sticking out of the crowd of Humans like a pike, wearing a scarf that was almost as loud as the traffic. He blinked upon seeing you. You were going to be casual, low key. Appreciative, but not fawning.

He leapt up like he was waiting to be called on in class, supporting his weight on the terrified man in front of him.

“ _IT'_ _S YOU! THE ONE THAT WAS CRIMED AT! HELLO!”_

When the traffic stopped the crowd around him parted like the Red Sea to let him pass and Bone Moses dashed towards you. You felt the first droplets of rain.

“I WAS WONDERING IF I WOULD BUMP INTO YOU,” he declared, taking a single step out of the road after being tooted at. You motioned for him to walk away with you to the side of the path, to avoid being jostled.

“OH, THOSE LOOK HEAVY. WANT HELP?”

You hesitated for a moment.

“I’M NOT GOING TO STEAL YOUR SHOPPING,” he reassured, in a manner that wasn’t reassuring because if there was one thing that didn’t bring ease to your heart it was immediate and specific denial. You gave him a bag nonetheless. He held it, waiting patiently for you to realign yourself.

“I WAS ON MY WAY OUT TO PICK UP GROCERIES; EGGS, MILK, VEGETABLES, MILK, MEAT, MILK-- YOU KNOW THE SORT, AND I SAW YOU! I THOUGHT I COULD RECTIFY MY MISTAKE.”

“Mistake?”

“I WAS _TOO_ MYSTERIOUS AND ALOOF. MY NAME, IT’S PAPYRUS.”

“Like the tacky font,” you chortled, finding humour in his joke.

“... YES?”

Oh. Whoops.

You looked him over, coming right out with it.

“Why did you buy my drink? Really. Outside of being 'mysterious and aloof'.”

“IF I DO ONE NICE THING A DAY FOR A STRANGER,” he said, puffing out his chest, “THEN I FEEL GOOD ABOUT MYSELF.”

Ahh, of course. What a genuinely wholesome notion. It was so painfully sincere that it made you feel warm.

“Oh,” you laughed, wanting to avert any awkwardness, “I was worried you were hitting on me, or something ridiculous.”

“I DIDN’T HIT YOU.”

“No,” you reassured, “no, no--”

“AT LEAST, I DON’T THINK I DID. I MEAN, IF I DID HIT YOU DURING MY ABSOLUTELY _BALLER_ DISPLAY OF WRESTLING SKILL THEN I’M VERY SORRY. I DIDN’T INTEND FOR YOU TO GET PULLED INTO THE EVENT HORIZON THAT IS MY RAW MASCULINITY.”

“Look--”

“I’M AMAZED YOU’RE STILL ALIVE,” he laughed, loud enough for it to echo.

You considered what to do next. As little as you knew about him, he certainly seemed nice enough, and you did owe him a purse-worth of money. A nice thing a day for a stranger. You could do that.

“Hey, um… I know this is sudden, but do you want to get a coffee, or whatever? I was gonna make breakfast, but I’m not really in the mood now, I was gonna get something anyway.”

“OH, I LIKE COFFEE! ALL THE FUN OF BEANS WITH ALL THE DANGER OF SCALDING WATER. WHERE TO?”

You told him of a place nearby, surprised he had accepted, and made your way in. Having ordered what you wanted, you sat down with your drink as you both shed your coats. His fingers tapped rhythmically at his cup as the rain pattered outside. He nodded enthusiastically.

“THANK YOU FOR THIS!”

You told him it was no issue, hands grasped around your own cup for warmth as the chill from outside crept in through the door.

Now that you were looking at him, in the light of day, dressed in clothing that would be far too tight for a Human, the weirdness of his appearance truly sunk in. But it wasn’t uncanny, it didn’t make your skin crawl. You didn’t know if you should attribute it to the fact that you _knew_ he wasn’t Human, but a different species of creature entirely. Death and what it leaves behind; sopping flesh, stench, bones, inspires a primal twinge of fear. Looking at Papyrus, a man that through no fault of his own _should_ have inspired revulsion, did nothing to shake you.

He was actually quite fun to look at. Very different.  

“HUMAN… YOU’RE JUST… YOU’RE SO…”

You looked at him, cocking a brow.

“YOU LOOK REALLY _WEIRD._ ”

You put your hand on your chest, only a half-comment away from a ‘well I never’, before recalling that you had thought the exact same thing regarding him.

“HOW CAN YOU MOVE ABOUT? WITH MUSCLES, AND STUFF. THERE’S SO MUCH GUNK IN THE WAY OF YOUR BONES, ISN’T IT RESTRICTING? I MEAN, LOOK AT THIS.”

Oh, he meant Humans in general. You moved from mortally offended to reasonably peeved.

He rolled up his shirt sleeve with a popping sound and spun his humerus three hundred and sixty degrees in a manner that actually did make your stomach tumble. He was entirely unhindered by flesh, the limitations your sinew had to adhere to before it would snap. You stared at his arm, jaw agape. A man yelped a table over. Unperturbed, Papyrus continued.

“OUTSIDE OF A CAR ACCIDENT, HUMANS CAN’T DO THAT!”

He picked up your limp hand by the wrist and gently rotated your arm as far as it would reasonably go, then stopped at once. His phalanges were smooth, alien and unusually warm, like a heat pack. You wondered what he perceived as ‘personal space’.

“SEE? HOW DOES ANYTHING GET _DONE?_ NOT USING MAGIC TO MOVE ABOUT, IT’S JUST SO… _STRANGE!_ HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT THOSE SORTS OF THINGS, LIKE TEARING ONE OF THOSE LIGAMENTS, OR COMING DOWN WITH A CASE OF SEVEN HEART ATTACKS. I WOULD BE SO AFRAID, ALL THE TIME! _”_

You recalled the stories you heard, and the newspaper articles you skimmed.

“Aren’t Monsters pretty fragile?”

“IN A FIGHT, SURE! BUT I CAN POP AND LOCK LIKE IT’S NOBODY’S BUSINESS.” 

You had questions.

“HUMAN, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.”

Hmm. Astute!

“How did you know?”

“BECAUSE I ALSO HAVE QUESTIONS, AND GENERALLY WHAT’S GOING ON WITH ME IS ALSO GOING ON WITH EVERYONE ELSE.”

Hmm. Egomaniac. Best to get the stupid ones out of the way. You had quite the opportunity to snoop.

“Is it true skeletons hang out in cemeteries, jump out and go ‘boogedy boogedy’ a lot?”

He answered so earnestly that you felt a twinge of guilt.

“WELL, I MEAN… WE DON’T HANG OUT IN CEMETERIES. I CAN’T REALLY SPEAK FOR THE SECOND ONE, BECAUSE I WILL NOW. IS IT TRUE HUMANS ARE TERRIBLE AT MAGIC?”

“Yep,” you said. You assumed as much. You couldn’t speak for every single person alive, but even the old fairy-tales stressed the magical ineptitude that came with being Human.

“IT COMES SO NATURALLY TO ME, THAT’S SUCH A STRANGE THING TO THINK ABOUT.”

To demonstrate, he conjured a thin, small bone in the palm of his hand, like that of a finger, casually stirred his coffee, and then dismissed it just as easily. You pondered, sipping your way through your drink.

“Hmm… Is it true you guys used to eat kids?”

“NOPE! MY TURN. IS IT TRUE THAT WHEN YOU WANT TO MAKE ANOTHER LITTLE HUMAN, ONE JUST… FALLS OUT OF YOU.”

You paused at his bluntness, then chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“NEAT! AND GROSS.”

That was a good topic, actually.

“Speaking of which, how do you guys… _Y’know._ ”

He looked at you plainly, not knowing.

“When, uh, two Monster’s want to… ‘Get close’, how does that… Happen? Humans only have so many ways, since there’s only, um… So much stuff going on.”

He looked at you with all the innocent glee in the world.

“HUGGING.”

Oh God, how could he not know what you were asking. You weren’t going to explain, this was embarrassing enough. You would just look it up later.

“Just-- it’s your turn.”

He went into deep thought, before he almost leapt out of his seat, having landed upon a question that had plagued him for years.

“IS IT TRUE THAT EVERY FEW YEARS YOU STEP OUT OF YOUR SKIN, INTO A FRESH ONE, AND EAT THE CAST-OFF FOR NUTRITION?”

“... No.”

“ARE YOU _SURE?_ ”

“Yes.”

What to ask, what to ask. Something silly, something lighthearted.

“What’s up with the ‘Man Who Speaks In Hands’? That an old folk thing for you guys? He’s like the boogeyman here. We use him to scare little kids into eating vegetables.”

“OH, HE’S REAL.”

“Wow, really? An old, long dead hero, or something?”

“NO, HE HANGS OUT AT OUR HOUSE A LOT.”

You nearly spat out your drink, some dribbled down your face.

You waited for the punchline.

“ _... Pardon?_ ”

“MY TURN! ARE HORSES REAL?”

“Yes-- but-- that’s a _real person?_ ”

“HOW SCARY,” he shuddered, “THEY’RE LIKE GALLOPING DEATH MACHINES--”

“You just told me that, I dunno, something like the _Easter bunny_ is real, that’s-- what’s he like?”

He winced.

“THE EASTER BUNNY IS REAL IN CHILDREN’S HEARTS,” he stated diplomatically, clearly avoiding an answer.

You took the hint.

“Is he… Not a people person?”

He sighed in relief, as you had said it for him.

“HE’S NOT REALLY AN ANYONE PERSON, NO.”

You nursed the rest of your drink, the silence giving him time to look around and take in where he was, something you imagined he did often given the recent exodus out of Ebott. He sipped his coffee, looking out of the window at the grey clouds and soggy pedestrians, waving politely at the people that would stare. His expression was warm, contented, far more subdued than what you had seen of him.

For a moment, for a split second, so quickly that you couldn’t be sure of it, he looked melancholy. He caught you watching and whipped his gaze to yours, plastering on exuberance and re-engaging with all his might.

“I LIKE IT HERE! MUCH BETTER THAN THE MOUNTAIN. SO MUCH TO DO. NEW FOODS, NEW PLACES, _LOTS_ OF NEW PLACES, NEW FRIENDS--”

He slowed, and stopped. He looked at you as if he were scrutinising something under a microscope with an intensity that didn’t suit him.

“ARE WE… _FRIENDS?_ ”

He said it with such seriousness, that he lacked even when he was about to be stabbed, that you were stopped in your tracks. It seemed like a nice thought. He seemed like good company.

“... In time?”

“THAT WILL DO!”

You exchanged contact information. Immediately afterwards, while he was still sat opposite you, he began texting you memes he liked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's still alive! it's the slime
> 
> he will crop up ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (word of warning, while there’s no smut just yet, this is where we start getting into the sexual themes! ‘3’)

Your phone buzzed, rousing you from your sleep. You unstuck your eyes and pawed at the side of the bed like a blind, drunk cat swatting at a fish until you found it. You had a new message from Papyrus, or as he insisted being referred to online, ‘COOLSKELETON’.

‘WHAT TIME DO YOU USUALLY GO TO BED AT?’

Confused, you told him, halfheartedly mashing your fingertips against the keyboard as your brain slowly kicked into gear.

‘WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP? °<°’

‘What’s that little symbol at the end?’

‘IT’S A HAPPY EMOTICON! LOOK, IT’S MY MANDIBLE. IT SHOWS THAT I DON’T HAVE LIPS, IT TRULY REPRESENTS MY EMOTIONS THROUGH THE POWER OF A CUTE LITTLE SHORTHAND! ^<^’

Chuckling, you told him what time you typically wake up, adding that you generally sleep in on days off, if you have nothing planned.

‘I DON’T SLEEP AND I DON’T WANT TO WAKE YOU WHILE YOU’RE RESTING, SO I SAVE UP ALL THE FUN THINGS I WANT TO SAY UNTIL I KNOW YOU’RE UP!’

‘You don’t sleep at _all?’_

‘NOT AT ALL! MY BROTHER DOES, BUT WE DON’T _NEED_ TO, HE JUST LIKES LYING IN PLACE AND NOT DOING ANYTHING FOR HOURS AT A TIME. SOMETIMES HIS BOSS COMES OVER TOO, AND I _KNOW_ HE DOESN’T SLEEP, BUT HE LIKES TO STAY IN SANS’ ROOM ANYWAY WHICH MEANS I CAN’T GO IN WITHOUT DISTURBING THEM. IT GETS LONELY! THE HEIGHT OF LAZINESS, IS WHAT IT IS.’

That was… Awfully close, for a work colleague.

He realised what he had just said to you, the person that sleeps.

‘I MEAN, SOMETIMES! ANYWAY, WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR TODAY?’

Shower, work, home.

‘What about you?’

‘I’M IN CULINARY SCHOOL, SO I HAVE TO GO TO THAT TODAY.’

‘Hobby?’

‘OH, FOR NOW. IT TURNED OUT MY LAST TEACHER…’

He paused for a moment.

‘SHE WAS VERY ENTHUSIASTIC! VERY ENTHUSIASTIC. TOO ENTHUSIASTIC. DIDN’T KNOW WHAT SHE WAS DOING AT ALL.’

‘At least she taught you the basics?’

‘THEY HAD TO MAKE ME UNLEARN A FEW THINGS WHEN I STARTED… BUT! SHE LED ME TO MY PASSION, AND FOR THAT I’M GRATEFUL. OH, I SHOULD COOK SOMETHING FOR YOU SOMETIME!’

Your chest tightened in the vice you call ‘growing friendship’, and you thanked him for the gesture.

‘MONSTER FOOD ACTUALLY HAS VERY BENEFICIAL PROPERTIES FOR HUMANS SHORT-TERM! BUT LONG TERM IT CAN GIVE YOU THAT THING.’

‘What thing?’

‘I CAN’T QUITE REMEMBER, I’LL LOOK IT UP.’

That ‘thing?’

‘CRIPPLING, EXCRUCIATING DIARRHOEA.’

Oh God, that was certainly a ‘thing’.

‘MY FRIEND MENTIONED IT! MY OTHER HUMAN, THEY SAID IT FELT LIKE THEIR ‘INTESTINES WERE BEING STABBED’. SO SILLY!’

This warranted investigating.

‘Are you close?’

‘VERY! I MEAN, THEY TRIED TO PUNCH ME A FEW TIMES BUT I THINK I GAVE THEM A CONCUSSION, SO ALL IN ALL EVERYTHING WENT WELL! THERE’S A LOT LESS PUNCHING AND A LOT MORE TALKING WITH YOU, IT’S VERY ENJOYABLE. I WASN’T QUITE AS COOL AND ALOOF, THEN.’

God, there was that phrase again, why was he so fixated on it? He insisted he was ‘cool and aloof’, but apart from his repeated proclamations you hadn’t seen anything that correlated with that.

‘Why ‘cool and aloof’?’

‘BECAUSE I THINK IT’S A VERY COOL THING TO SAY, IF YOU’LL EXCUSE MY REDUNDANCY.’

‘But it got in the way of us talking, right? You don’t need to adopt a persona or anything, I like you.’

He was totally silent. He didn’t respond for seven minutes.

‘HUMAN, LOOK AT THIS.’

It was a picture of a cat, that looked as if it had a funny moustache.

 

* * *

 

Your phone’s alarm rung on the hour, and Papyrus sent his bulk messages on the hour.

It became a pattern. This wasn’t to say you didn’t dislike his messages, not at all. But the knowledge that you would wake up in the morning, get a cup of coffee and scroll down what he had sent made you smile. You weren’t quite sure what had changed. What was something you had to remind yourself to respond to became a little treat at the beginning of the day. Eventually, it would turn into a stream of consciousness ramble, almost like a diary for him, to view all at once.

‘I HOPE YOU SLEEP WELL!’

‘I DID SOME MORE RESEARCH INTO HORSES AND NOW I’M MORE TERRIFIED OF THEM THAN EVER.’

‘FOUND OUT ABOUT GIRAFFES; MY FEAR KNOWS NO BOUNDS. THEY CAN REACH IN MY WINDOW WITH THEIR LONG, SCARY TONGUES, TO EAT LEAVES. I’M MOVING MY POTTED PLANT TO THE LIVING ROOM. I CANNOT COPE WITH THIS WEIGHT ON MY HUNKY SHOULDERS. I’M ONLY ONE MAN.’

‘I FOUND OUT THAT THE ‘FUNNY BONE’ IS THE ULNAR NERVE. WE DON’T EVEN HAVE THOSE. I’LL NEED TO TELL SANS, HOPEFULLY IT WILL STOP HIM MAKING THAT PUN EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, AND BY EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE I MEAN EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR THE PAST TWENTY YEARS.’

‘PLEASE DISREGARD MY EARLIER STATEMENT, I FOUND OUT GIRAFFES ‘GIVE THE BIRTH’ RUNNING AT HIGH SPEED. THEY ARE MY NEW FAVOURITE ANIMAL.’

‘I AM READING ABOUT AUTODEFENESTRATION. I DID NOT KNOW WORDS COULD GET THAT SPECIFIC. FINALLY, I HAVE A TERM TO DESCRIBE THAT THING I DID IN THE QUEST FOR FRIENDSHIP.’

You would need to remember to ask him about that one. His earnest glee regarding all things ‘surface’ was endearing, and reminded you of just how alien the world must have seemed. That night, before you drifted off, you got to thinking.

Your curiosity got the best of you. True to your word, you looked up how Monsters had sex. You didn’t peruse in a manner that was _shameful_ , sex was a part of life, but given that your curiosity was inspired by a man you had just begun to talk to it would be a lie to say you weren’t a little bashful. You clicked the first link.

… That was an extremely complex diagram you didn’t understand. This was too advanced, you assumed it was for physicians. You looked for something simpler. You assumed there would be a guidebook, similar to the ones you would peer at as a teen, and sure enough you were correct.

‘Your Body and You; Why Am I So Sweaty?’

Oh boy.

‘You’ve reached an important time of your life! Maybe you’re growing taller, your voice is getting deeper, or maybe you’re rising on your hind legs for the first time in your life to gore your romantic rivals! ‘But I don’t know what’s happening,’ I hear you cry! This handy guide will explain it all, and more!’

There, that would do it. You would skim for the important details.

‘Between the ages of eight to eighteen, you--’ alright you knew this part, you didn’t need the refresher.

Ooh, this was different.

‘Your body is magic--’

Aw, there was a little fireworks gif that would play when you clicked ‘magic’, that was cute.

‘-- And ‘magic’ is an extension of your soul! While your body might _seem_ like you, everything you ever are, will be and do is in the _soul!_ You can achieve an orgasm _physically_ , but reproduction can only come about when two Monsters of a similar ‘type’ are linked in intercourse _and_ in soul!’

Underneath there was a link to a ‘compatibility quiz’ called ‘I’m an Aardvark, and She’s a Sentient Collection of Thirty Thousand Worms! Can We Ever Have Kids?’

You assumed the answer was no. Monsters really were so different from Humans. A lot of planning, hoping that you ended up with someone compatible in every sense. With Humans it can be a case of ‘we’re drunk, and this bus stance is warm-- whoops! Baby.’

‘Due to the wide array of Monster physicalities available, we’ve compiled a list of what’s involved to give you the _deets in the sheets!_ ’

You hoped to never see that sentence again.

God, those were a lot of categories. You looked for something familiar. Scanning the page, your eyes came across ‘bird’. You liked birds, you knew about those.

You clicked on the tab.

‘Using something all your friends will call a ‘cloacal snog’--’

You closed the tab.

Your curiosity growing, you scanned the list alphabetically. Face burning, you took to the search bar.

‘Skeleton.’

‘We’re sorry, we don’t have an entry for ‘skeleton’! Talk to a parent or guardian if you wish to know more!’

Oh that’s it, porn it was.

You cast of the shackles of the measured, well researched website to plunge into the sticky underbelly that was pornography. There already appeared to be a burgeoning Monster section. You expected nothing less. You clicked the category, assailed with ads that promised to increase your penis size.

‘ _I_ _NTER-SPECIES GANGBANG, THREE-PROLAPSE EXTRAVAGANZA!’_

You decided against that one.  

‘Monster Couple Have Sex For First Time: Real Orgasms!’

That would be fine. You weren’t sure if it was going to be arousing to you, but you wanted to see what went on. It was a webcam video, fuzzy and almost difficult to make out. Sat on the bed facing the camera was a large, bipedal bird, and another walked into frame, haltingly removing their shirt. Nerves, more than reluctance. This… This wasn’t bad? You skipped ahead and found that they _seemed_ to be grinding their pelvises together, but despite being naked you couldn’t make out any familiar genitalia. You… You could get into this!

Your phone buzzed.

‘I REQUIRE MORE GIRAFFE DISCUSSION.’

Oh, you had planned for this giraffe talk! You wanted to get into it, but just to get him out of your hair long enough to attend to your ‘business’ you tabbed into the ‘fun giraffes facts’ page you had kept open all day. You copy and pasted the link and sent it off to Papyrus, only to find that you hadn’t done that and had instead sent him a link to the video you had been viewing. You yelped in panic and rushed to delete the message but it was too late, you could already see him typing.

‘WOWIE, THOSE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO TOWN ON EACH OTHER! THAT’S A FULL-ON CLOACAL SNOG, DO YOU THINK THAT CHAFES? I THINK IT WOULD CHAFE.’

You could slap yourself. Curse you, doing this just before you went to bed! That was when Sleepy Mistakes occurred! These were the _bungling hours!_ Curse you!

‘OH MY GOD,’ he said, treating it with the same lightness he had given to the cat pictures, ‘IF HE GOES ANY HARDER HE’S GOING TO GET SUCKED IN. ^//<//^’

You began screaming into your pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thrill as you TEXT YOUR FRIEND and BROWSE THE INTERNET!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay! real life shenanigans happened, you know how it is

After exchanging memes, comforting him through the raw fear of realizing that a horse could both outrun and out-stomp him in a terrifying equine-heavy survival situation and repressing the living daylights out of your pornographic mishap, you set about making plans to have that dinner. You talked on the phone now, it felt more natural, and it became easier to discern if his statements were jokes or sincere. They tended to be the latter. At the mere mention of the world ‘meal’ he let out a shriek of delight so potent that it could blow the walls off of your room.

“GOD HOW _EXCITING!_ YOU’RE COMING TO MY _HOUSE!_ TO _EAT! FOOD!_ ”

“What else could I eat?”

“DIRT. OR PERHAPS SOME SORT OF SUCCULENT. BUT THE ONLY SUCCULENT YOU’LL BE EATING IS… SUCCULENT _MEAT!_ ”

“Oh, great!”

“I LIED, THE MEAL IS VEGETARIAN, I DON’T KNOW WHY I SAID THAT.”

You rubbed your eyes and nursed a cup of coffee, your dressing gown flapping around you like a cape.

“YOU CAN MEET SANS PROPERLY! HE SPENDS MOST OF HIS FREE TIME SLEEPING AT GRILLBY’S, BUT NOW HE’LL HAVE TO BE AWAKE AND SOCIABLE. I THOUGHT ABOUT INVITING EVERYONE ELSE OVER, BUT SANS SAID I SHOULD PROBABLY DO IT IN SMALL CHUNKS. SO A FAMILY DINNER IT IS!”

“Everyone else?”

“OH YES! I HAVE MANY HIP FRIENDS THAT LOVE ME. LIKE UNDYNE, I TALKED ABOUT HER! WE GO TO THE GYM TOGETHER. SHE’S THE MASTER OF SOMETHING SHE’S CALLED ‘APOGEE-CARDIO’. I’M GLAD SHE ENJOYS IT, IT TURNS OUT IT’S ACTUALLY ILLEGAL TO ADVISE SOMEONE TO TAKE IT AS A WORKOUT REGIMENT. SO IF SHE EVER TRIES TO... DECLINE.”

You insisted that you probably wouldn’t subscribe to apogee-cardio. Or any type of quantum squat. You yawned, glancing at the clock and waiting for the messages to zip in.

“ANY KIND OF DIETARY RESTRICTIONS? I WOULD RATHER MY JAPES WERE THE SORT WE COULD LAUGH ABOUT GOOD NATUREDLY, LIKE THE KIND INVOLVING TACTICAL PLACEMENTS OF MOUSETRAPS, RATHER THAN THE KIND THAT LEAVE YOU FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AND CATCHING A CASE OF DIED.”

You answered his question.

“OH, GOOD, THAT DOESN’T CHANGE THE MEAL THEN. WHEN YOU ARRIVE, MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME! YOUR HOUSE IS MY HOUSE.”

You sipped your coffee.

“WAIT, WAIT, NO. THAT’S NOT THE SAYING. THE OTHER ONE, I’M TRYING TO SAY THE OTHER ONE.”

God, you really were half asleep, this was far too bitter. You must have forgotten the sugar.

“I’M NOT A CRAZY PERSON. ANYWAY, IF YOUR PLANS CHANGE, LET ME KNOW! SANS HAS BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO TALKING TO YOU, INSTEAD OF CONSPICUOUSLY COMPLAINING ABOUT CELERY IN AN ATTEMPT TO INVITE YOU INTO A CONVERSATION. IT’S NOT EVEN THAT BAD, HE ALWAYS DOES THAT.”

You heard Sans shout something, drawing Papyrus into an argument as interesting as it was extremely petty. You made plans for tomorrow evening, you made sure to dig out the unopened bottle of wine that you were gifted two Christmases ago to take along.

 

* * *

 

His house was very nice. So nice, in fact, that you weren’t sure how he could afford it on a student budget, even with the help of his brother. The garden was blooming, tinted a soft, pleasant blue in the night, crickets were chirping. It was a warm, clammy day, your palms sweat as you rang the doorbell. It hadn’t finished ringing out before you heard him skitter to the front door like an alsatian and thrust it open.

“EVENING!”

He caught sight of the bottle in your hand.

“OOH! WINE! WHAT SORT IS IT? MALBEC? GAMAY?”

You couldn’t remember.

“Free.”

“OH MY GOD HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE? AND SPEAKING OF GIFTS, I MADE YOU...”

He scuffed his foot against the floor bashfully before presenting a long, thin present from behind his back.

“THIS!”

What was this, a fancy pen? You unwrapped it. It was a long, slender phalanx, that looked as if it had been plucked from the nearest morgue. Your instincts compelled you to yelp and toss it into the nearest bush, but you held off.

“IT’S… A FINGER BONE!” he declared, putting his hand to his hip in a dramatic pose. “I THOUGHT YOU CAN USE IT AS A BOOKMARK, I MAKE THEM ALL THE TIME.”

He gently took it from your hands, clutching it between his real fingers and bopping you on the cheek with it.

“IT’S JUST LIKE A REAL FINGER! WOW! LIKE SCULPTING, BUT WITH BONE, AND INSTEAD OF EVERYONE TELLING YOU WHAT A GREAT ARTIST YOU ARE AND GIVING YOU MONEY PEOPLE USUALLY JUST START THROWING UP AND CRYING. DO… DO YOU LIKE IT?”

You felt that bringing this thing into your home would bring a pox on your land and kill your street’s pets. But he looked painfully earnest.

“I love it,” you lied.

He handed it back, cupping your hand for a second longer than was necessary. You slipped it in your pocket.

“GOOD! I MEAN, GOOD. I KNEW YOU WOULD. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A GOOD FINGER OR TWO.”

You laughed, flushing.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY.”  

You waited for it to sink in, if you could pardon the pun. He looked as wide eyed as ever.

“... IS IT BECAUSE IT.. POINTS AT THINGS?”

“Uh--”

“ _OH,”_ he cried out, having come upon his revelation, “ _OH, LIKE THE SEX THING!_ AH. AH, I GET IT. I WAS A LITTLE SLOW ON THE UPTAKE, THERE! I WAS THINKING TOO HARD.”

Speaking of which you coughed, steeling yourself.

“I am so, _so_ sorry--”

“ABOUT WHAT?”

“The porn.”

Papyrus laughed lightly, easily, and too loudly for the subject you were broaching.

“OHH, THAT! I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO MOVE THE TOPIC OF CONVERSATION TO BOINKING! YOU ALREADY ASKED, AFTER ALL.”

“I didn’t mean to send the link. It was an accident.”

Papyrus looked wistful, holding his chin and hemming. “AH, THE OLD ‘I SENT THE WRONG THING DURING _PERSONAL TIME’_. WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE!”

“... _Have we?”_

“OH YES! I WAS SIGNED UP TO A RESTAURANT NEWSLETTER! AFTER A MISHAP INVOLVING COPY PASTE AND A VIDEO DEEMED ‘INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO HUMAN EYES’ I HAVE SINCE BEEN REMOVED. SO I EMPATHIZE! AND IN A SHOW OF GOODWILL CONSIDER MY KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR SWEATY INTERSPECIES LEANINGS LOCKED AWAY!”

“I didn’t--”

“IN THE VAULT THAT IS MY MIND.”

“I--”

“COMPLETELY SILENT ABOUT YOUR HANKERING FOR MONSTERS.”

“You--!”

“THE QUIETEST! THE QUIETEST ABOUT YOUR FONDNESS FOR CLOACAS? IT’S A WEIRD CHOICE, BUT IT TRULY IS THE MULTI-PURPOSE ORIFICE! VERY EFFICIENT! I’M NOT GOING TO JUDGE, IT’S GOOD TO EXPAND YOUR HORIZONS BEYOND WHATEVER MYSTERY-CHUNKS HUMANS HAVE, AND EVEN IF I WERE TO JUDGE IT WOULD BE DONE SILENTLY. LIKE A GOOD PERSON!”

“I _\--”_

“NOT A PEEP ABOUT YOUR STRANGE, MOIST YEARNINGS.”

If your face burned any hotter you would have melted a hole through his front porch.

“You… Don’t have a lot of shame, do you?”

He gave himself a firm pat on the behind, as if he was appraising a horse.

“IT WOULD BE A WASTE, LOOKING LIKE THIS. COME IN!”

You walked in and were hit with a wave of smell, savoury and spiced. Your mouth watered. You moved to the living room with him, noting the organized clutter of his house, brand new furniture that still smelled of pine against worn, well loved chairs. Sat upon the desk, next to the bowl of fruit that seemed to consist entirely of lemons, was a rock with sprinkles. You turned slowly to take in the sights, then leapt backwards like a startled cat when you found a prone, pulsing mass, its body shifting and undulating impossibly like a tide locked in three ways, something that can and shouldn’t--

Papyrus prodded the terrorlump on the shoulder. It roused, turning over as if awakening from a nap. You saw the face. This was the Man That Speaks In Hands.

“GASTER, STOP MOPING AND INTRODUCE YOURSELF.”

Sighted on the outskirts of Human territory in a time you couldn’t even imagine, wise and monstrous, and currently draped over the couch like a discarded sausage.

“ARE YOU GOING TO?”

Gaster looked at you before slowly turning inward to face the couch cushions. Papyrus bristled visibly, suppressing a bout of passive-aggressive anger so potent that it would decimate the self-esteem of the entire street.

“ _RIGHT--_ RIGHT, OK, THAT’S _FINE_ , BEING _RUDE_ ALSO WORKS, THAT’S FINE.”

He sighed, shooting you a glance.

“I’LL GO KNOCK ON SANS’ DOOR, HE MIGHT NOT HAVE HEARD YOU RING. DINNER’S ALMOST READY. BACK IN A MOMENT.”

Before you could say ‘this is going to be awkward’ he had merrily bounded up the stairs. Now you were left with your own quiet breathing, the heavy atmosphere, the ticking of the clock and a man that was making an active, emphasized point to be rude. You broached conversation gently.

“So, um… What, uh, what are your hobbies?”

You heard the house creak around you. They did that, old houses. A nightmare to heat properly as well.

“Probably, um… Probably the hands thing.”

Victorian? Probably Victorian. They liked to make little noises. You couldn’t imagine living in a house like this, to hear it make mysterious thuds in the dead of night. 

“Yeah…”

Gaster was looking inwards to the couch and the atmosphere was becoming excruciating.

“My dad used to say that you would steal my soul if I didn’t eat my carrots.”

He turned and raised his brows, only a little. Because God was real Papyrus came pattering down the steps to rejoin you.

“HE’S JUST TOSSING SOME CLOTHES ON,” he said, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth you heard a slow, methodical plod down the wooden steps.

Sans appeared in the doorway, dressed in an oversized promotional shirt for a soft drink you had never heard of and worn boxer shorts. Papyrus looked as if he was going to tear his own head off.

“hi.”

“REALLY? _AT DINNER, SANS._ ”

“best i’m comfy, right?”

Sans nodded to you, placing the responsibility at your feet.

“d’you care?”

You told him that no, you didn’t.

“see?”

Papyrus conceded the point, though it did nothing to contain his cavilling, he muttered his way to the kitchen and conspicuously clattered some ladles to make his displeasure known. He then ran back in as he was neglecting his duties as host, which in turn meant you had watched him do a small lap of his own house. He came skidding to a halt in front of you.

“SANS, THIS IS… THE HUMAN!”

“yeah, uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you said.

“she got a name, pap?”

“OH MY GOD, SHE DOES.”

“what is it?”

“I’M SO USED TO SAYING ‘HUMAN’.”

You told him your name and he nodded.

“I NEED TO THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE, THERE’S, LIKE, SEVEN BILLION HUMANS.”  

Sans looked like a squashed, round Papyrus. He was stockier, with chunkier legs and a barrel chest. But despite his bulkier physique he looked oddly frail. Brittle. Sans shrugged.

“hey, not all of us drank a lot of milk, y’know. i’m not built for bench presses.”

… How the _hell_ had he managed to do that.

You hadn’t responded verbally but he gave you a coy wink with a little ‘clatter’ of his socket and sauntered off to join the Antique Grumble-Slime, who lit up at his presence. You felt as if he had just peered into something he shouldn’t have been able to see and it disturbed you, like a slightly off-kilter picture hanging from the wall that you couldn’t quite right. Papyrus, once again, left to tend to the meal. You sat opposite Sans and Gaster, slightly guarded. They leaned into each other comfortably. You saw Sans dip to the side, squinting in concentration, set upon rooting something out from the side of the couch. He pulled out a thick album, lint caked to it.

“oh. hey. guess the priceless family album was right beside the couch. amazing. what is it doing there. oh well. it’s a shame _not_ to look at them. here’s a picture of papyrus eating a whole candle.”

He opened the book and turned it to face you, and true to his word there was a picture of a very young skeleton eating a large red candle with his fists. Papyrus seemed very gleeful about it. You did not know eating candles could bring such joy into an adorable child’s heart.

“i found shavings all over the house,” Sans said with warmth, his tone fluctuating out of his steady drawl. “for two years. candle, everywhere. he would push his way into closets to eat them. burning them didn’t do anything either, he would try to drink them and set fires.”

He turned the page. This picture was of a far smaller, far rounder Sans and a slightly older Papyrus. His teeth were chipped, and he was courting a fine layer of dirt that all children seem to gather at that age.

“his first day of school. ain’t he cute?”

He was, you readily admitted, he was. Gaster loomed like a gargoyle on a church spire.

“here he is as a little baby.”

What did baby skeletons look-- oh God, they looked like that, how adorable! Round, soft looking faces, big eyes and fat, bean-like bodies. Sans chortled, and while it might have been the wind knocking you were almost sure you heard Gaster _coo._

“look’at him. he was so pudgy. could roll him to--”

Papyrus walked back in.

“SANS, DID YOU DRINK THE COOKING CIDER-- _ARE THOSE THE PICTURES.”_

“yeah.”

“ _NO! NO! AWAY! DESIST! YOU ALWAYS DO THIS!”_

“but they’re cute.”

In a panic, Papyrus began to flick him with the water from his hands, like he was scaring a cat away from his garden.

“ _NO! NO!_ ”

“i showed her the candle eating one. what was it about cinnamon apple candles that--”

 _“_ ** _CEASE!_ ** _”_

As cute as the pictures were, and amusing as Papyrus’ sudden onset of shyness was, you felt it best to give him an out.

“What are you making?”

He whipped his head to face you like he was about to die.

“WATER-SAUSAGE AND PARSNIPS, SLOW BRAISED IN CIDER, SERVED WITH GREENS AND PAINFULLY CREAMY MASHED POTATOES.”

It sounded fantastic, you could feel your stomach rumble as he spoke. He glanced to it, perplexed.

“YOUR FEED-BAG IS SCREAMING.”  

“It does that. What’s a ‘water-sausage'?’”

“A ‘SAUSAGE’.”

“The way you’re saying that worries me; what kind?”

“DAMP. I’M ABOUT TO PLATE UP SO EVERYONE SIT AT THE DINING TABLE.”

“can’t we just eat here?”

“WE COULD. WE COULD ALSO EAT WITH OUR HANDS AND BEAT EACH OTHER TO DEATH WITH ROCKS OVER TERRITORY DISPUTES BECAUSE WE DIDN’T MANAGE TO SCORE THAT MAMMOTH WE’VE BEEN TRACKING FOR A MONTH AND TRIBE MORALE IS DOWN. GO SIT AT THE TABLE. ”

Sans shrugged, no worse for wear, and made his way to the table on the opposite end of the room, Gaster trailing behind and taking his own seat.You joined him, sitting down. Papyrus, yet again, made his way to the kitchen.

“did, uh, papyrus tell you about the--?”

“Stomach problems,” you coughed, “yes.”

“oh, right. cool. one meal should be fine. probably. uh, bathroom’s down the hall.”

How pragmatic! That was kind of him to mention.

“don’t want you firin’ your guts out both ways all over the upholstery, y’know? pap will have a fit.”

… How grim, for him to spell out the possibility.

You saw Gaster’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and you threw him a glare. You, too, could master the art of quiet ire. You both, through looks alone, exchanged many words, all of which were ‘fuck you’. Sans caught this, sighed, then coughed to clear the air. You heard Papyrus’ shrill voice ring out from the kitchen and buried in it was a thin ‘we talked about this’ that couldn’t have possibly been directed at you.

“IT’S READY!”

Papyrus placed your plate down, then Sans’. A heaping portion of vegetables and gravy sat upon a bed of mashed potatoes. You waited while he retrieved his own and heard him yell ‘DIG IN!’ from the kitchen which was cause enough to go to town. You ate whilst Papyrus sat down to your left. He still smelled of cologne.

“DO YOU WANT SOME?”

Gaster mulled on the offer before declining politely with a hand motion.

“THERE’S LEFTOVERS, IF YOU DO.”

Papyrus began to eat, proud of his handiwork. Rightfully so. The meal was _fantastic._ Whatever a water-sausage was it was currently pulped in the stew. It tasted… Plant-like? It was strange, but an enjoyable kind of strange. Very different to what you were used to.

“shit bro,” Sans groaned, “this is good.”

“NO CURSING AT THE DINNER TABLE! AND THANK YOU.”

“heh, i’m supposed to be the one pulling you up on this stuff.” Sans looked boastful, casually motioning to Papyrus. “i’m the big bro.”  

“IN AGE, NOT IN STATURE!”

“yup.”

“YOUR LEGS ARE STUMPY, WHILST MY PINS ARE LEAN AND LONG.”

“mhmm.”

“HE’S FUN-SIZED, LIKE A CHOCOLATE BAR.”

“absolutely.”

Your eyes caught Gaster’s, and he seemed just as enraptured with their earnest, easy love for one another as you were, before his gaze hardened once again.

“it’s nice to eat with people. better than being bonely.”

Papyrus looked at him in despair, as if he had just watched Sans unhinge his jaw and eat a cat whole.

“SANS. SANS, I’M _BEGGING YOU, PLEASE_ EXPAND YOUR PUN ARSENAL. THERE’S ONLY SO MANY BONE PUNS IN THE WORLD. I’VE HEARD THEM ALL, SANS. I’VE HEARD THEM ALL.”

“i dunno, i think i can come up with a few more.”

“PLEASE, SANS. PLEASE. BONELY ISN’T FUNNY. _”_

Sans chuckled, clearly finding more amusement in Papyrus than in the bad jokes themselves. You didn’t want the light atmosphere to become sickly and forced, so you kept the conversation moving smoothly.

“This,” you said through a mouthful, “is _amazing._ ”

You half expected Papyrus to wince at your open-mouthed chewing, but any disgust he had was expertly suppressed as he beamed with pride.

“I HOPE YOU’RE REALLY ENJOYING IT AND NOT JUST HUMOURING ME.”

Sans looked uneasy.

“It’s great,” you said, meaning it.

Gaster looked at you very pointedly, as if trying to pierce the bones of your skull. He opened his mouth, voice smooth like dark, weighted silk.

“How lovely, you managed to compliment him without committing a few genocides in the process. Perhaps you can get through the evening without enacting some atrocity. There’s a lovely park near here that’s become a popular place to scatter our ashes, if you take a slight detour on your route home I would think it would give you more than ample time to urinate all over it.”

You stared at him, too caught off guard to register what he had actually said. Sans and Papyrus, however, caught on at once.

“ _dude._ ”

“ _GASTER!_ HOW DARE YOU TAINT WATER-SAUSAGE NIGHT WITH YOUR SHENANIGANS! _WATER-SAUSAGE_ _NIGHT!_ IS NOTHING SACRED TO YOU?”

He slunked off like a housecat, unaffected, before dissipating into smoke and sliding under the door.

“DON’T DO THAT, _YOU’LL WEAR OUT THE CARPET IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT SPOOKY THING!”_

Like that, he was gone.

“WE HAVE DOOR HANDLES FOR A REASON, YOU DYSPEPTIC SLIME-MAN! YOU CAN’T COMMIT VERBAL HIT AND RUNS AND JUST LEAVE--”

Unfortunately, Gaster had committed his verbal hit and run, and had just left. Papyrus threw his arms in the air, exasperated. He almost sounded resigned.

“EVERY TIME HE’S HERE HE STARTS DOING THIS-- _HE MADE THE MAILMAN CRY, SANS!”_

“i know, i know--”

“I LIKE THE MAILMAN, AND _HE MADE HIM CRY!_ ”

“yeah.”

“What’s his problem?” You were bemused more than anything. This was really good, you had to ask Papyrus for the recipe. Sans spoke up.

“he, uh… has a bit of a stick up his ass. especially with, uh… humans. don’t mind him. i think he gets a kick out of pushing buttons.”

“I see.”

“yeah…”

Papyrus looked at Sans while he picked at his food.

“DID YOU TALK TO HIM?”

“yeah.”

“OOH I’M GOING TO GRAB HIM BY THE METAPHORICAL EAR FOR THIS ONE.”

You continued eating quietly. You were more dumbstruck than anything, it’s not as if the judgement of a stranger mattered to you, but it clearly did to them. The atmosphere was thick.

“SO,” Papyrus chirped, “SO, HOW WAS-- HOW WAS THE--”

He tried to think of a topic. He failed, pinching his nasal bone.

“DAMMIT.”

“no cursing at the dinner table.”

“ _REALLY.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your sitcom arch nemesis is here, and papyrus sprints back and forth in his own home


	6. Chapter 6

Papyrus apologized repeatedly for Gaster’s conduct, but you stressed that you didn’t really care at all. He was just some stranger you had met, an admittedly quite famous one, but you had just wanted to eat some water-sausage and not be drawn into an incredibly serious topic. You asked Papyrus why Gaster was even there in the first place, curious more than anything.

“OH,” he said, voice tinny over the receiver, “HE’S USUALLY HERE FOR SANS AND THEIR THING HAPPENED TO ALIGN WITH THAT. HE WAS NAPPING ON THE COUCH BECAUSE HE WAS TIRED FROM WHAT I SUSPECT WAS, UM. CANOODLING. BUT I GAVE HIM QUITE THE SCOLDING AND HE ACCEPTED IT, HE’S CERTAINLY NOT GOING TO DO THAT AGAIN, NOT IF HE WANTS TO SWAN ABOUT MY HOUSE.”

“You own the house?”

“I DO,” he said, unsure of why that was notable to you, a twenty year old owning a very nice property was clearly the most normal thing in the world.

“No loans or anything like that?”

“WHY?”

“I was just wondering.”

“NOPE! OWN IT ALL. IN MY NAME, AND EVERYTHING.”

Maybe he had some sort of secret bag of skeleton-cash he kept in his ribs, you thought. It wouldn’t be the most unusual thing about him. You adjusted the blinds to get the full brunt of the sun out of your face.

“OH, NOW THAT I THINK ON IT, I’M GOING TO THE GYM TODAY WITH UNDYNE, DO YOU WANT TO JOIN US? IT’S SQUAT-SATURDAY.”

You could do with the fresh air. Maybe not the exercise, but if he liked Undyne, you liked Undyne. He always spoke highly of her.

“Sure.”

“GREAT! I’LL SWING BY IN MY CAR AND PICK YOU UP. YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE UNDYNE,” he fawned, “SHE LIKES SQUATTING, BENCHING, SAME-SEX SHENANIGANS AND TALKING ABOUT PUKE.”

Silence.

“I DON’T LIKE THAT LAST ONE BUT THE REST REALLY OFFSETS IT. SEE YOU IN AN HOUR!”

He hung up. You looked forward to seeing him. You gathered your gym clothes.

 

* * *

 

When you stepped outside he was in his sports car, his extravagant, wildly expensive sports car. How on earth did he _afford_ this stuff? Money was either no object or far too much of one.

His scarf flapped gently at his neck and he took off his sunglasses.

“WHY HUMAN, I… DIDN’T SEE YOU!”

“You didn’t see me.”

“YES!”

“You took off your sunglasses because you _didn’t_ see me.”

He looked vexxed.

“... YES?”

“Alright.”

You got in, and as you did so he grabbed his bag out of the back seat.

“DO YOU WANT SOME FRUIT?”

You said yes. It would be refreshing on a day as hot as this.

He plucked a whole lemon from his bag and bit into it as you would an apple, before reaching in again and handing you another. You stared at it. Then to him. Then to the lemon. Then to him again.

“IT FIGHTS SCURVY.”

“No thank you.”

“MORE FOR ME.”

You watched him chumble the lemon, rind and all, sucking at his fingers when he was done and wiping them clean with a wetwipe.

“THE BURNING MEANS IT’S NUTRITIOUS. THAT’S HOW YOU KNOW IT’S A HEALTHY FRUIT. TIME FOR UNDYNE. SHE’S AT THE CAFE YOU TOOK ME TO.”

The drive there was a quick one, so quick in fact that you nearly missed the lean, blue woman waiting by the curb, with a shock of red hair and sculpted, toned muscles. She was tall, not quite as tall as Papyrus, but certainly enough to be intimidating. She appeared to be blind in one eye, an eyepatch affixed with elastic. She yelled upon seeing the car, like she was signalling troops to battle. The noise caught you off-guard but Papyrus didn't flinch. 

“SQUAT-SATURDAY!”

“ _Squat-Saturday,”_ she yelled in turn.

They both looked to you expectantly.

“... Squat-Saturday?”

“ _SQUAT-SATURDAY!_ ”

She threw herself in the back, rocking the whole car with the effort.

“Hey! I’m Undyne. You’re really scrawny!”

You blinked. You looked to Papyrus, the skeleton, then back to yourself.

“... He doesn’t have muscles.”

Undyne looked mortally offended on his behalf, while he looked as chipper as ever.

“What are you talking about? He’s _stacked!_ ”

“I’M STACKED, HUMAN.”

_“Ripped!”_

“RIPPED!”

“Look at his guns; are you blind?”

“BEHOLD MY PUNCHERS.”  

Given her physique you were inclined to believe she knew something you didn’t, and given the sharpness of her teeth and she fact she could snap you like a toothpick you were far less inclined to argue.

“What’s your name?”

You told her.

“Pfft,” she snorted, blunt but with no real contempt, “who names a kid _that?_ ”

“UNDYNE!”

“It’s true! Gotta call your kid something cool. Like… Like Lungefist.”

“THAT’S AN AWFUL NAME FOR A CHILD.”

“Snapbeef!”

“I TAKE IT BACK, THAT’S WORSE.”

She cackled, loud and unrestrained. She adjusted her eye-patch.

“Are we gonna _flex_ or what?!”

“YEAH,” Papyrus cried out, as if overcome with the spirit of testosterone.

“Oh, d’you guys mind if I put on my CD?”

“OOH! I LIKE YOUR MUSIC, GO AHEAD.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” you said.

“Rad! Mind doing it? It’s in the glovebox.”

You rooted around for a caseless, blank CD, found it was labelled ‘sick riffs’ and assumed it was hers, and were confronted with an overwhelming, thunderous wave of metal.

“Now we’re ready!”

“ _YOU BET WE ARE!”_

Papyrus took off. You imagined what it must have been like to be running errands that day, to watch a skeleton wearing sunglasses speed by in a sports car as a half-blind fish-woman threw up the horns and shrieked. A metal cover in itself. Dedicated to get into the spirit of things you gave it your all as well, to which Undyne looked delighted. The wind whipped your hair and you whipped back. The only thing keeping Papyrus from doing the same was the fear of a brutal, fiery death. You had mixed feelings pulling towards the gym, because you were enjoying yourself but if you whipped your hair any harder there was a real risk you would pass out. The journey, much like your life up to this point, passed in a flurry of guitar solos and vague nausea.

You parked a fair distance away, getting your bearings as Papyrus fumbled with the dashboard until the roof presented itself and locked in place. The gym was a walk, though nothing strenuous. Undyne thudded your back, you nearly fell over.

“You ready for some _apogee cardio?!”_

You watched Papyrus’ metaphorical ears prick up.

_“NO UNDYNE, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!”_

After entering, mulling on the gym pass you really hadn’t been using as much as you should have and pulling a muscle putting on your exercise clothes you began. You stretched, Papyrus didn’t need to at all since he had no muscles to strain and Undyne seemed keen to the point of unhinged regarding your own routine.

“You call that a stretch? What about the splits? It’s not a real workout until your groin smacks the floor!”

This statement caught the attention of Papyrus, who wasn’t using the stair machine so much as sprinting up it.

“ _UNDYNE!_ ”

“What?”

“CAN WE GO _ONE_ SQUAT-SATURDAY WITHOUT YOU BRINGING UP GROINS.”

“No!”

While you could appreciate the benefits of exercise you also had a busy day tomorrow and couldn’t afford to be flat out, so you decided to take things on the easier side whilst still building up a sweat. A good compromise. You watched Undyne bench the absolute living shit out of some weights before becoming distracted with the rowing machine on the other end of the hall. At the speed she was going you wouldn’t be surprised if she launched herself out of the window.   

It hit you how unbelievably strange this whole thing was and how much you didn’t understand what was actually going on. And how quickly you had seemed to accept all this, even if you were still bemused. You became curious.

“Does exercising actually make you stronger?”

“IT DOES,” he beamed, still exercising. He removed his ‘SWEAT-LAD’ crop top, giving it a twirl with his finger for flair and dropping it beside him. You saw the entirety of his ribcage, devoid of anything except a small white light that peeped from under his breastbone.

“How could it?”

“OH, YOU KNOW. BONE DENSITY AND… MAGIC, AND STUFF. CALCIUM. BENCH PRESSES.”

“You have no idea.”

He looked bashful.

“CORRECT! BUT IT WORKS, AND THAT’S ALL I CAN SAY. IT’S THE REASON I WAS ABLE TO PULL OFF THAT SWEET ELBOW DROP THAT SAVED YOU FROM THAT SCRAWNY MAN WITH THE KNIFE. IT’S GOOD TO GO TO THE GYM REGULARLY! EVERYONE LOOKS AT YOU AND ADMIRES YOU, AND THINKS ABOUT ALL THE HARD WORK YOU PUT IN.”

“What about the health benefits?”

“THAT TOO!”

You stopped, watching his smile grow just a little too big. Not forced, but exaggerated. You wondered how true that was of all of him.  

“Papyrus,” you said, eying him in concern, “do you put _that much_ stock in what people think about you?”

For the first time you watched him become visibly uncomfortable, and though his frame towered over you he seemed far frailer. Like a posed prop, rather than the thinking, breathing, rambunctious person he was, or made a point to appear to be. He continued to ascend the stair machine, pointing behind you.

“IF YOU’RE NOT USED TO THE WEIGHTS THEY CAN SEEM INTIMIDATING, BUT THEY’RE NOT REALLY. IT’S ALL ABOUT PROPER FORM AND POSTURE.”

You considered pushing the topic further, but you didn’t want to cause him any genuine distress. It was his business and it was clear he didn’t want to discuss it.

“YOU’RE AT A LOOSE END, HOW ABOUT DEADLIFTING? I CAN COACH YOU THROUGH. YOU WON’T BE BLOWING YOUR SPINE STRAIGHT OUT OF YOUR SKIN IN A GYM ACCIDENT WITH MY TEACHING, IDEALLY.”

Filled with confidence after hearing his extremely reassuring words you agreed, stressing that you really couldn’t be sore tomorrow.

“POSTURE FIRST, WEIGHT LATER.”

You stood in front of the bar as he walked around you, as if appraising a painting. You allowed him the chance to fuss, his earlier vulnerability sinking back under the surface.

“PART YOUR LEGS.”

You did, until they formed a triangle.

“NO, THAT’S TOO MUCH. DO YOU MIND IF I HELP?”

“Go ahead.”  

He walked over and gently maneuvered your leg into place, handling you by the thigh. You jolted at the contact, but didn’t find it to be invasive or unpleasant. He looked steely.

“ABOUT HIP-WIDTH. YOUR FEET LOOK FINE.”

He resumed concentrating, hand on his chin. You watched the rise and fall of his ribs absently, peering at the little white light.

“BEND OVER.”

_“-- Pardon?”_

“GO TO PICK IT UP BUT DON’T ACTUALLY DO IT. YOU KNOW, BEND OVER. I NEED TO CHECK YOUR SPINE. YOU CAN REALLY HURT YOURSELF IF YOU DO IT WRONGLY.”

His instructions registered and you bent over into a squat, hands on the bars.

“CLOSE! YOUR BACK AND HIPS ARE _SLIGHTLY_ MISALIGNED.”

You felt a smooth, warm hand on the small of your back, moving your hips into position, and felt his other hand press gently on your collarbone to right you. Your face reddened, you hoped it was due to the physical exertion of holding a squat.

“NOW YOU WON’T TIP OVER,” he declared, proud of his tutelage and so close you could hear his ribcage thrum softly with every syllable. “KEEP YOUR BACK AS STRAIGHT AS YOU CAN. IT’S BETTER FOR YOU, A LOT BETTER. IF YOU’RE BUSY TOMORROW I WOULDN’T DO TOO MUCH ON THESE, BUT IT’S ALWAYS GOOD TO LEARN.”

You heard Undyne’s voice again, shouting and cutting through the clinking of exercise equipment as other gym goers desperately tried to ignore what was happening.

“Grab her boob!”

“ _THAT IS NOT GOOD EXERCISE ETIQUETTE.”_

“And bending her over and copping a feel is? I invented the bend-and-boob, Papyrus, I know it when I see it!”

“FIRST OF ALL YOU INVENTED THE TWIST-AND-TIT, WHICH IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT _, AND-- I-- IT’S-- I’M COACHING HER ON APPROPRIATE TECHNIQUE!”_

“I’ll say!” 

“UNDYNE I AM BEGGING YOU, PLEASE GROW A FILTER _."_

You didn’t know skeletons could turn red, but apparently they could, fluorescently so. He looked like his head was about to melt off.

He was still in your bubble, and you both noticed that fact at the same time. He didn’t move, and neither did you. Nonsense was unfolding in front of you. Sweaty boob-nonsense. Which Undyne seemed to be heading.

“SINCE SOMEONE, AND BY SOMEONE I MEAN _UNDYNE,_ CAN’T SEEM TO REFRAIN FROM TURNING THIS INTO A PEANUT GALLERY; DO YOU WANT TO HIT THE POOL INSTEAD? YOU CAN’T SHOUT UNDERWATER. I’VE TRIED!”

You agreed. You wondered how he could keep swimming trunks on, you thought that a bare pelvis would be difficult to clothe.

The answer, you found out, was speedos, as he leaped into the pool and didn’t resurface, Undyne following swiftly in turn until they were both totally submerged. You did laps, dipping your head under the water to see what was going on every time you passed, and found that they were both at the bottom of the pool treading water. Papyrus caught on and would wave merrily up to you, whilst Undyne looked as if she was caught in a life or death battle. You swam, took brief breaks when needed, then resumed, wondering what it was they were doing. It occurred to you in the middle of the freestyle portion of your swim.

Papyrus was a skeleton.

Undyne was a fish.

They were seeing who could go the longest without coming up for air, but hadn't accounted for the other person.  

Wanting to go home at some point in the day and unwilling to wait the literal hours Papyrus was willing to put in, you swam down, grabbed Papyrus by the hip bones and pulled him to the surface of the water like a confused dingy. Undyne let out a burbling cackle of triumph, her body waving and warping in the water. You shoved him to the side of the pool like a burlap sack, before hopping up and letting your legs dangle.

“-- HUMAN I WAS WINNING!”

“She can breathe underwater,” you said, eyes burning and tasting chlorine, “you would have been here for hours.”

“WELL I CAN’T WIN AT ALL IF YOU’RE JUST GOING TO GIVE UP BECAUSE OF A FEW CRIPPLING FACTS, THAT ARE TRUE.”

You saw Undyne’s head peep up in front of you, like the fin of a shark, hair trailing behind like blood.

“Yeah,” she rasped, breath ragged and scales cracked, “yeah, I knew I could-- could-- that wasn’t good for me.”

Papyrus leapt in and began to pull her out, which she protested out of pride.

“OH MY GOD LOOK AT YOU! WHEN DID YOU START TO FEEL ILL?”

“It’s nothing!”  
  
“UNDYNE,” he fretted “YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE DYING. I’M CALLING ALPHYS. I DON’T WANT YOU TO GET… FIN ROT? CAN YOU GET THAT? OR IS THAT A GOLDFISH THING.”

“Don’t stress her! I’m fighting fit!”

She hacked, coughing and dipping back under the water before righting herself and clambering out.

“... Do that all the time!”

Unsure of what to do you padded off to your locker, grabbed your bottle of water and padded back. With all the good grace in the world, you threw it in her face. She looked better at once, if still sickly. It was agreed that you would get changed and Papyrus would call her girlfriend. Though in this case agreed was short for ‘Undyne couldn’t protest this’. You all sat in the cafe, damp and still smelling of chlorine despite the quick shower. Papyrus was fidgeting, rattling his fingers and nursing a small cup of coffee while Undyne drank her water. His face lit up when Alphys answered her phone, something to slice through the concern.

“HELLO ALPHYS, IT’S ME. ARE YOU BUSY?”

He held the expression.

“OH. YOU ARE. RIGHT, ABOUT THAT; UNDYNE IS ILL.”

“I’m fine,” Undyne interjected.

“-- IT WAS A CHLORINATED POOL, YES.”  

You wondered if this had happened before.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO DROP HER OFF, OR…?”

“I’m not luggage,” she declared.

“I KNOW THAT, LUGGAGE WON’T _VOMIT IN MY CAR--_ YES I’M STILL HERE.”

You sipped your sports drink. It was the closest thing to a normal gym experience you had, so far.

“OH! OH, OK, THAT ALSO WORKS. YOU’RE THE DOCTOR. SEE YOU IN A BIT. BYE-BYE! TOODLE-OO!”

He hung up.

“SHE’S PICKING YOU UP.”

Undyne grumbled. You felt this was a very low key response, the twitches of her arms implied she was one comment away from flipping a table. She continued drinking her water, sloshing some on her neck for good measure. She flexed her gills, exposing fine frills of soft, wet flesh on her face that pulsed and undulated. She chuckled grimly when you winced.

“That one always freaks you guys out.”

She laughed again, lighter, tossing another swig of water at her neck and sighing at the contact.

“Didn’t have to call her.”

“I DID! I’M NOT A MEDICINE DOCTOR. I DON’T KNOW WHAT A KIDNEY IS. AND _YOU_ JUST SO HAPPEN TO BE DATING SOMEONE THAT DOES. AND I’M NOT GOING TO SIT IDLY BY WHILE YOU DRY OUT LIKE YOU’RE BEING TOASTED FOR BRUNCH. YOU CAN’T ENDANGER YOURSELF FOR THE SAKE OF LOOKING REALLY RAD.”

“Hell yeah I can, I just did!”

“THAT WAS A WORRYING WAY OF INTERPRETING WHAT I JUST SAID. ANYWAY, SHE SAID SHE WOULD CALL WHEN SHE WAS OUTSIDE.”

Undyne groaned.

“Can I at _least_ hit the punching bags?”  
  
“NO! NO PHYSICAL ACTIVITY.”

“... Can I at least hit the people looking at me funny?”

“NO TO THAT AS WELL!”

She grumbled. You had to look away when she slipped part of a straw in her gills and another in her water. You focused on the sound of Papyrus upbraiding her, fussing like a mother hen, until you saw a very distinctive motorcycle pull up outside. Like something lifted from the past, black and shiny, with a sidecar. You assumed that was for Undyne. Papyrus’ phone rang and he helped her to walk out, her arm hooked around his shoulder. You watched Undyne’s brash, bold demeanor melt away to something far more vulnerable, intimate. Undyne looked sheepish.

“Hey babe!”

“A _treated pool,”_ Alphys said, quirking a brow and adjusting her glasses. Her helmet shifted on her head.

“Papyrus started it.”

“I _DID NOT!_ ”

Alphys looked at her warmly, tinged with an air of ‘what are you doing’. You could feel a gentle scolding in the air. She was a squat, stout lizard, riding a motorcycle that didn’t seem to suit her and wearing a leather jacket that didn’t fit. Her tail swished heavily behind her and she looked to you specifically.

“S-Squat-Saturday?”

You nodded.

“Ah,” she said, in an understanding beyond your own.  

Undyne clambered in the side car. You wondered what Alphys did.

“ROYAL SCIENTIST,” Papyrus said, picking up on your question.

You didn’t know what that was exactly, but if royal wasn’t a metaphor then you could only imagine she was wealthy.

Alphys gave you a look, but struggled to maintain eye contact. The little she provided felt forced.  

“I-It was nice meeting you. Sorry about, um-- she’s really, really passionate. Thanks for calling, Papyrus.”

She waved goodbye to Papyrus, to you as well. She looked to the drag bars like she didn’t know what to do with them, then disengaged and drove off. You watched Undyne throw up the horns again.

“NEXT SATURDAY WE WON’T GET IN THE POOL. SHE PROBABLY KNEW SHE WOULD GET SICK BUT SHE JUST HAD TO WIN. WANTING TO SHOW OFF LIKE THAT CAN’T BE HEALTHY.”

You looked at him pointedly. You felt the first spits of rain hit your forehead. Papyrus squinted up at the sky, ignoring you.

“I THINK THIS SQUAT-SATURDAY IS A DUD. AND WHILE I’M NOT ONE TO QUIT I WILL ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THE, UM… NEAR-DEATH OF A FRIEND ISN’T GOOD FOR MOTIVATION. WANT TO CALL IT QUITS? WE CAN GO SEE A MOVIE, OR SOMETHING.”

The rain grew heavier. Papyrus groused, stomping his foot rather cutely.

“GAH! DID YOU BRING AN UMBRELLA?”

You had not.

“I SEE. ENGAGE THE _CRAB MANEUVER._ ”

He very gently pushed down and before you could say anything he had lifted his shirt and stuffed your head in his ribcage, providing a barrier from the rain. All you saw was rib and shirt, it all smelling very plainly, comfortingly, of him.

“COMFORT _AND_ STYLE.”

“... What are you doing.”

“THE _CRAB MANEUVER_. I’M NOT SURE HOW YOU DIDN’T NOTICE, I SHOUT ALL OF THE THINGS I SAY. YOU REALLY MUST LEARN TO LISTEN, OR ASK ME TO BE EVEN LOUDER. BUT FOR NOW WE SHUFFLE.”

He turned and began moving sideways, bopping your skull with his ribs and taking you with him. You engaged in the shuffle, glad that your head was dry and that you were experiencing whatever this was.

“THERE’S ALSO THE LOBSTER LUMBER, OR THE MOLLUSK YOMP. I COULD HAVE THOUGHT OF MORE NAMES, BUT I ALWAYS GET HUNGRY FOR SEAFOOD AND BECOME DISTRACTED, SO YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE DO WITH THE _CRAB MANEUVER._ ”

You laughed.

“Are people looking?”

“THANKFULLY; YES. HELLO!”

You felt his arm wave.

“IT’S GOOD TO BE POLITE.”

You waved halfheartedly in a random direction. The shuffle continued, you nearly tripped once or twice.

“THINK OF IT AS DANCING, IN ONE DIRECTION, WHILE THE AUDIENCE PELT US WITH BUCKETS FULL OF WATER!”

He put his hand on the small of your back to lead you in the _crab maneuver_ and you jolted in surprise, grabbing onto his spine with both hands. He squealed in pleasure, clamping his other hand over his jaw.

Oh.

After apologizing at once and removing your hands from his spine, you continued the _crab maneuver_ in thick silence. It became too awkward. You disengaged, braving the rain, and walked beside him to his car. You both entered and sat there, looking through the windscreen. He went to turn the key before hesitating, then resuming his staring with his hands on the wheel. He coughed. The atmosphere; dense. Your clothes; slightly moist.

“Touching your spine is a deeply intimate sex thing isn’t it.”

“IT IS, YES.”

“You’re popping the biggest involuntary skeleton-boner in the world right now, right.”

“THAT WOULD BE CORRECT.”

“Is this awkward for you as well.”

“UNBELIEVABLY SO.”

“I see.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DRIVE YOU HOME.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry for, the, um--”

“OH, YOU KNOW, IT’S-- IT’S FINE. NO HARM DONE! YOU DIDN’T HURT ME, OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT, ACTUALLY-- I WAS JUST CAUGHT A LITTLE OFF-GUARD IS ALL. IT HAPPENS.”

He was still sweating, eyes locked forward and leg bouncing. His brows knit in thought before he turned to face you.

“UM, IF YOU…”

His sentence petered off and you were left looking at each other. A Monster, and a Human, in a car, staring at one another.

“It happens,” you said, giving him an easy way out.

“IT HAPPENS,” he responded, taking it.

He drove you home. You were painfully aware something had, indeed, just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual tension! a dried fish women and her motorcycle scientist girlfriend! crabs, and their maneuvers! SQUATTING!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoohoo, we're getting into saucy dealings now!
> 
> thank you for your comments and kind words! if you left one and i haven't responded, i deeply apologize. i formulate answers in my mind, and forget to answer them. i will try and do better!

Your muscles were on fire and every joint felt like it needed oiling. You waited for Papyrus to call. It didn’t happen. Unwilling to make him uncomfortable, you went on about your day, cursing your aches.

You waited another day, and received nothing.

And then, nothing after that for a week. Poor Papyrus. You didn’t want to make him any more upset, as much as you missed his company. Trust you to accidentally fondle his skeledong. Upon mulling on this fact, your phone buzzed to life.

‘HUMAN LOOK I CAN MAKE THE LITTLE SKELETON SPARKLE. °<°☆’

You read it over, then read it again.

‘Are you alright?’

‘IT TOOK ME FIFTY MINUTES TO LEARN HOW TO DO THAT.’

You took that to be a yes. It seemed he wasn’t comfortable enough to make a call, but you didn’t mind texts either. Wasn’t comfortable enough to talk about it at all, it seemed. Boy had you screwed up.

‘What are you up to?’

‘I’M BUSY EATING BREAKFAST.’

You wondered what he would make, considering his fondness for cooking.

‘Did you make it yourself?’

‘THAT’S THE THING; I DIDN’T.’

‘Sans?’

‘COULDN’T HAVE BEEN; IT TASTES GOOD.’

You considered the options.

‘... Undyne?’

‘STILL A LITTLE UNDER THE WEATHER!’

Who on Earth could it have been? You hummed in thought before it slapped you.

‘... Gaster?!’

‘DING DING DING! IF I LEAVE HIM UNATTENDED HE’LL JUST START… DOING THINGS? LIKE SPRUCING UP THE PLACE, OR MAKING SOMETHING. HE LOOKS AS SERIOUS AS HE NORMALLY DOES SO I NEVER HAVE THE HEART TO TELL HIM TO STOP. HE MADE US PANCAKES THIS TIME. HE NEVER EATS ANY OF IT.’

You had a difficult time reconciling this with what you had seen of him. You wondered how much of his sullen personality was down to your presence, specifically. Such a strange man, in a cavalcade of strange men.

‘Not at all?’

‘NO. HE’LL SIT DOWN WITH US AND CHAT, ASK US ABOUT OUR DAYS. HE SAYS THAT WATCHING US ENJOY IT FULFILS THAT NEED IN HIM. I DON’T THINK HE CAN EAT. HE JUST LIKES TO HANG AROUND AND HAVE MONEY.’

‘... Have money? _’_

‘YOU KNOW, DO MONEY THINGS. I ONCE ASKED HOW MUCH MONEY HE ACTUALLY HAD AND HE LAUGHED AND GAVE ME A PAT ON THE HEAD. AND THEN SOME MONEY. AND WHILE I DON’T ENJOY BEING TALKED DOWN TO I DO ENJOY PATS ON THE HEAD AND CASH GIFTS. I BOUGHT A MIXING MACHINE WITH IT.’

This left you with even more questions. The boogeyman from your childhood was, apparently, set for life.

‘What does he do?’

‘HE MADE A SCIENCE. SO DID SANS; THAT’S HOW THEY MET. THEY’VE BOTH BEEN BUSY SINCE THE BARRIER BROKE, BUT SANS HASN’T ACTUALLY DONE ANY OF THAT STUFF FOR A FEW YEARS SO HE’S OUT OF PRACTICE. DOING TALKS AND THINGS. SANS SAYS THEY’LL PROBABLY TRY AND GET INTO RESEARCH; GASTER HOLDS A LOT OF CLOUT. HE USED TO BE THE ROYAL SCIENTIST.’

You balked at Sans, ketchup swilling, armpit-farting Sans being a highly respected scientific mind.

‘Isn’t that what Alphys does now? Is there more than one?’

There was a gap in messages, his reticence brought your absent curiosity to a burning need to know.

‘IT IS, AND NO. THERE’S ONLY EVER ONE AT A TIME.’

‘They were working for the king? What happened there? That’s as high up as it gets, right?’

‘... THINGS.’

‘Things?’

‘STUFF. IT’S NOT REALLY MY PLACE TO SAY. I’M SORRY.’

What was _up_ with these guys?

Phone in hand, another message zipped in, a slight change in subject.

‘I LIKE HAVING HIM AROUND. I KNOW THAT’S PROBABLY A LITTLE HARD TO BELIEVE GIVEN WHAT YOU’VE, UM, SEEN OF HIM. BUT HE’S BEEN VERY SWEET TO US. HE’S TREATED US LIKE HIS FAMILY. HIS WEIRD, STICKY SLIME FAMILY. HE’S GIVEN ME HIS WORD THAT HE WON’T THROW ANOTHER WOBBLY, AND I’M INCLINED TO BELIEVE HIM. I UNDERSTAND IF YOU DON’T. IT’S NOT YOU THAT’S THE PROBLEM, IT’S… THE WHOLE HUMAN THING? ’

‘What’s with that?’

‘I… I THINK IT’S THE WAR? HE’S OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE SEEN IT.’

Oh. Oh, right. The War. Too grand a term for what it was. You didn’t want to dwell on it.

What you had thought to be a cheap remark regarding things you had no control over could have been something that ran deep, like a knife under fat.

‘Damn.’

‘YEAH I, UM, DON’T ASK HIM ABOUT IT. IT’S DEPRESSING. ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING THE IMPRISONMENT AFTERWARDS.’

It was your turn to think.  

‘-<-; OH MY GOD, ALL THAT TALK OF NOT MAKING THINGS DEPRESSING AND I GO AHEAD AND DO IT ANYWAY! SORRY ABOUT THAT.’

‘No, don’t apologize, seriously.’

Interspersed in your conversation was a cat video he had liked.

‘IT’S BEEN NICE TALKING TO YOU AGAIN. I MISSED YOU.’

The text brought a warm, easy smile to your face, and that fluttering in your stomach.

‘I missed you as well.’

‘OF COURSE YOU DID?? THAT WASN’T IN QUESTION.’

 

* * *

 

Your everyday texts resumed, as well as the terrible memes, until, over the course of a week, you had resumed your calls. The _crab maneuver_ was cast to the back of your mind as he told you jokes, and you pestered him with bone puns you had found on Google for your own impish amusement. He called when he cooked, you called when you pottered about the house. You had to skip a call, however, days later, when your throat felt like sandpaper. You watched your phone ring out on the coffee table, before sitting up to read the text he had sent. The sun was setting, you were glad for it.

‘HUMAN IS SOMETHING CUTTING INTO THE YAMMER HOURS. IS IT A BRAIN TUMOUR?’

Oh God, he had been browsing Wikipedia again. Brain tumours, always with the brain tumours.  

‘I think I’m coming down with something.’

‘OH NO! WHAT’S WRONG?’

‘Headache, coughing a lot. Kind of sweaty. Some guy at work had a cold, I think he brought it in.’

You coughed, sending a ripple of ache to your bones. You groaned. Despite it not being crippling, you did enjoy the idea of missing work for a day or two. You were punctual otherwise, one sickie wouldn’t hurt. You could almost feel him Googling, you regretted telling him your symptoms.

‘HUMAN I CHECKED ONLINE AND IT’S TUBERCULOSIS AND YOU’RE DYING.’

‘It’s not tuberculosis. It’s a cold. They’re common.’

‘DON’T BE CLASSIST.’

You groaned. You sipped at your ice water and fired off another few texts telling him not to worry, but found that you got no reply. You can only assume he had whipped himself into a froth regarding your illness. Then again, if he caught some sort of Monster disease that was totally foreign to you, you would probably be ill with worry yourself.

You heard wailing outside your front door. Pulling up a page on what the cold was on your phone, you trundled to the door and swung it open. You were greeted by a distraught Papyrus, who had thrown his arms around you like a life raft. To his feet was a gym bag, and just out of sight was your terrified, repenting neighbours.

“TUBERCULOSIS! TUBERCULOSIS AND _BRAIN TUMOURS!_ _TUBERCUTUMOURS!”_

You pat his back and dipped the open webpage into his line of sight. His terror abated and he let go of the hug.

“OHH. OH. WOWIE, YOU WERE A BIT OF A DRAMA QUEEN, YOU AREN’T DYING AT ALL! _”_

He laughed lightly while you wiped your nose on your arm.

“I THINK I HAVE A DECENT ENOUGH SENSE REGARDING WHAT HUMANS NORMALLY LIKE TO SAY THAT YOU, HUMAN,” he chirped, “LOOK TERRIBLE.”

“Thank you.”

“IT’S VERY CLEAR YOU’RE ILL. UNDER THE WEATHER. COURTING THE REAPER. POORLY!”

You set about shooing him away gently.

“SO I WILL BE YOUR NURSE! ANYTHING YOU NEED, I’LL--”

You ushered him in immediately. He plonked himself on the couch, sitting neatly in a pressed shirt while you moped in your pyjamas. He carefully opened his bag, unveiling an array of face masks and lotions.  

“You brought this for… For tuberculosis?”

“I WAS GOING TO TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL, BUT WE WON’T NEED TO DO THAT NOW. PHEW, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DYING! HUMANS CAN CATCH _SO MANY DISEASES!_ THIS STUFF I BROUGHT FOR CHEERING UP PURPOSES, FOR WHEN YOU WERE IN YOUR BUBBLE AT THE WARD. YOUR SKIN LOOKS NICE, BUT DID YOU KNOW IT’S THE LARGEST ORGAN IN THE HUMAN BODY?”

“My ex would disagree.”

“HAHA! GOOD ONE! I DON’T GET IT.”

He began pulling bottles out of his gym bag and setting them neatly on the counter, labels facing towards himself.

“I THOUGHT, WHEN YOUR SPIRITS WERE DOWN, SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE ON THEIR WAY OUT IN A CLINICAL PRISON WITH ONLY ONE TRUE ESCAPE, WE COULD HAVE... A SPA DAY! LOTIONS! CREAMS! RELAXING WITH ONE OF THOSE TWISTY TOWELS ON YOUR HEAD! LIMES!”

“Limes?”

“IN YOUR EYES!”

“ _No._ ”

“CUCUMBERS, IF YOU WANT TO BE _HIGH MAINTENANCE._ ”

He pulled out the bottle of wine you had gifted him.

“I SAW A BUNCH OF SITCOMS WHERE LADIES SIT AROUND WITH FACE CREAMS AND GET DRUNK, AND I THOUGHT THAT WOULD BE FUN. DISTRACT YOU FROM YOUR SWEATY ILLNESS.”

Your will was strong, but the pull of face cream and re-regifted wine was stronger. You were only Human. You sat next to him. He huffed with satisfaction and let you pick out the bottles. Some of these were in languages you couldn’t understand. You hoped they didn’t have limes in them. He spoke as you browsed.

“I WANT TO KEEP MY BONES LOOKING PEARLY,” he said, “WHEN I’M OLD I’LL LOOK LIKE A SMOKER’S WALLPAPER AND I INTEND TO PUT THAT OFF FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE; SHOWER, HYDROGEN PEROXIDE, SOAP, BRUSHING!”

“The moisturizer and the face masks? Do they help?”

“THEY MAKE ME FEEL PRETTY.”

You conceded. That was as good a reason as any.  

He applied the cream to your face in short, even strokes with two of his fingertips, and you could feel the heat of his breath. His browbone knit in concentration, taking care not to get any in your hair as his fingers skimmed the top of your flesh, like he was drawing patterns in sand. He poked your forehead quickly in passing, curious of skin’s give, but played it off as part of the treatment.

“IF ANY GETS IN YOUR HAIR, OR YOUR EYES,” he said, deep in concentration, “I WOULD IMAGINE IT WOULD BE VERY DIFFICULT TO GET OFF.”

You resisted the urge to titter. You took breaks to cough like a smoker sixty years deep and sip your water, but ultimately you got through it with no issues, save for the odd twisting in your stomach. You did the same to him, applying unsurely, before getting a feel for the smooth, slightly porous texture of bone. He enjoyed being preened, it was apparent, he would lean into your touches and huff delightedly. The twisting grew in strength. Creams applied, he opened the bottle of wine by pulling the cork out with his teeth and pouring two glasses.

“I THINK THIS IS THE PART WHERE WE GOSSIP ABOUT ACQUAINTANCES? I LOVE GOSSIP! AND ACQUAINTANCES!”  

You thought on things to gossip about, holding the glass but not quite up to drinking it yet. Papyrus looked at you, cream slathering his bones, relishing the moment.

“A woman at work once took two muffins from the plate instead of one, in the breakroom.”

“ _T_ _HAT COW!_ NO, NO, SORRY, THAT WAS HARSH. I’M SURE SHE’S ACTUALLY VERY NICE.”

“She’s not.”

“ _THAT COW!_ ”

You watched him down the glass, astonished, and went to join him before realizing something.

“The cold medicine, I can’t drink with it. I just remembered.”

The silence between you was a little awkward, but you couldn’t quite pin why. He took a deep breath, as if going to begin a speech, but nothing came of it.

“What is it? You look like you want to say something.”

He took the glass from you delicately, then downed it as well, like it was being tipped into a ditch. Your jaw nearly popped off.

“I… Oh my God.”

“NO HUMAN IT’S FINE, I'VE BEEN MEANING TO SAY SOMETHING FOR A WHILE, AND I'M-- I’M JUST BUILDING UP MY COURAGE DON’T WORRY--”

“For what, you’ll get alcohol poisoning!”

“OH, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THAT,” he chuckled at your ignorance, “I DON’T HAVE A BLOOD STREAM.”

“Oh,” you sighed. “Wait, wait, then how can you even get drunk--?”

“BECAUSE I’M MADE OF MAGIC.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, I’M TRYING TO BUILD UP MY COURAGE AND YOUR QUESTIONS ARE EATING INTO THAT!” 

His phone buzzed, the timer.

“OOH, BACK IN A MOMENT.”

He left to go to your bathroom, returned spic and span, calmly sat back down and resumed quaffing like it was going out of style. You wondered what he was trying to accomplish.

After cleaning your face as well (your skin looked lovely, this was some nice stuff) you learned two things. One, that Papyrus was a very loud drunk. And two, that Papyrus was a very affectionate drunk. You were not shocked at this. What you were shocked at, however, was that a man of his size was such a lightweight. He was laughing at something, half slumped on the couch and, to your surprise, now far-gone enough to swig the wine right out of the bottle.  

“THIS STUFF IS-- IT’S VERY COMPLEX, VERY COMPLEX! I’M SMELLING A BOUQUET OF…”

He sniffed the rim of the bottle dramatically.

_“WINE.”_

He wheezed while you watched him, entirely amused. You took the tiniest sip to humour him, watching him be merry. He then looked serious, as portentous and grim as he could ever be.

“HUMAN,” he said, and you took his hand in yours, worried for him.

“What is it?”

“DO YOU WANT TO CUDDLE?”

“Why did you ask like that?”

“CUDDLING IS VERY SERIOUS BUSINESS! AND I’M ALMOST OUT OF WINE.”

“I think I have rum.”

“HMM… I’LL LEAVE IT… I DON’T WANT TO GET DRUNK.”

He swung his arms out dramatically. Sighing in faux-indignation, you cuddled up. He giggled muzzily, enjoying himself, flopping a comically long leg over yours.

“I _LIKE_ CUDDLES,” he murmured, cosying up. “SANS DOESN’T LIKE THEM AS MUCH, GASTER IS HARD TO HUG AND UNDYNE BROKE MY ARM LAST TIME. BUT THIS IS NICE. YOU’RE SO SOFT. AND SQUISHY. LIKE A STRESS TOY.”

He gently squashed the flesh of your upper arm, watched it settle, then did it again.

“INTRIGUING!”

Your breath hitched as he dipped down and nibbled at your neck, the drink making him far bolder. He chuckled salaciously, grabbing your hand and moving it to his backside, inviting you to squeeze his tailbone.

“I THINK WE SHOULD KISS,” he confessed in a tone of voice that made you shiver. Your throat dry, you gently peeled him away from your neck, which he accepted. “BECAUSE I’VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH YOU INCESSANTLY FOR _WEEKS_ AND I’M STARTING TO THINK YOU AREN’T VERY OBSERVANT. I DON’T PAT MY BONY BEHIND IN FRONT OF _ALL_ MY FRIENDS I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW.”

He had gained too much courage, it seemed. An overabundance of drunken pluck.

“Papyrus?”

“ _YES?_ ”

“You’re drunk.”

He looked mortally offended.

“I’M-- NO I’M NOT-- I’M NOT _DRUNK_ \--”

“What’s two plus two?”

“WHATEVER YOU _WANT IT TO BE...”_

You watched him struggle to think of a sexy, endearing term.

“... BOOB-O.”

Any sexual tension was obliterated with Boob-o. You snorted with laughter, he took that to be a successful application of his calcium charms. 

“THROW YOUR OVARY AT ME; I’M READY! THAT’S THE FLAPPY HUMAN SEX PART, ISN’T IT? IT’S DIFFERENT, BUT I CAN WORK WITH WHATEVER! BECAUSE IF I WAS A BETTING MAN, AND I'M NOT, BUT IF I WAS, THEN I WOULD SAY YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON ME AS WELL,” he slurred.

Your face turned beet red upon hearing him speak so candidly, and also upon the realization that if he were to do this sober you wouldn’t object in the slightest. You weren’t quite sure when the switch had flipped, but it had. Even drunk, and drooling a little, he was cute. Something you could recognize as near-Human, but different enough to be charming. Exuberant and cheerful, vain without ever becoming supercilious; boastful, but not at the expense of others. You had a crush. Papyrus laughed loudly. You saw the small light, dulled under his shirt.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S THE EMBARRASSMENT TINGE, I’M-- I’M RIGHT, AREN’T I! I DIDN’T FORGET THE VIDEO YOU SENT, YOU WERE LOOKING FOR MONSTER PORN. YOU ALL CHANGE COLOUR WHEN YOU HAVE A FEELING; HUMANS ARE LIKE STICKY, LEAKING LAVA LAMPS, RED IS THE DISCOUNTENANCE--”

His face went blank as he forgot the word following it.

“... Colour?” You offered, thoroughly flustered.

“-- COLOUR, THAT WAS IT. I FORGOT. I’VE HAD A WHOLE WINE. I THINK I’M _DRUNK_ ,” he whispered in a way that wasn’t actually whispering. You could smell him again, feel the heat coming off of his body. Booze and deodorant and sweat. “DON’T LET ME FIND OUT, I-- I THINK I’LL TRY TO DENY IT.”

“I won’t tell you that you’re drunk, Papyrus.”

“WHAT NO I’M NOT.”

He clicked his fingers, conjuring up the words necessary to convey his thoughts, or lack thereof.

“SO YOU WANT TO HOP ON BOARD MY MILK TRAIN. YOU WANT TO ‘COURT THE REAPER’, AND _I_ WANT TO SQUISH AWAY AT YOUR CHEST HILLS. BUT! I’M ‘DRUNK’, APPARENTLY. I’VE GOT-- I’VE GOT A FEW DRINKS UP MY SLEEBS. SLEEVE. I HAVE A _PLAB_.”

“‘Plab’?”

“PLAN. I HAD… A _LOT,_ WHEN YOUR MEDICINE WEARS OFF YOU CAN HAVE A LOT TOO, THEN WE CAN _SMOOCH_ . WITH OUR _FACES_. AND HAVE IT NOT BE _WEIRD._ IT’S FOOLPROOF.”

You chuckled. He looked at your expectantly, like a cat waiting for a biscuit. You gave him a kiss on the forehead. This caught him off guard, he giggled at the contact and burrowed comfortably into the hug.

“Goodnight, Papyrus,” you said, trying to keep your composure as your heart thudded in your chest.

“I’M NOT SLEEPY--”

You draped the sofa throw over his head, as you would over a parrot’s cage, and he fell asleep immediately, empty bottle hitting the floor as he snored. You went to your room, retrieved your duvet, resumed your place beside him and fell asleep as well. He flopped his head on your neck, mumbling about tuberculosis.  

The next morning was not as warm. You were up, your need for relief had taken you back to your medicine cabinet, and when you had walked back into the living room he was sat up, trying to put together the pieces of the night before. Now you could talk about this in a calm, reasonable way, like sensible adults.

“Morning, party animal,” you teased, breaking the tension before diving in. “Thanks for coming over. My skin looks great, what’s in that stuff?”

Slowly, slowly, like a sunlight creeping over a hill, what he had said and done dawned on him. Stumbling to his feet he spied your open window, and with it, freedom and relief from his drunken embarrassment. In a sprint, he went to toss himself out of it, only stopped by your quick reactions as your tackled him. You both hit the ground with a loud, graceless thud, and he attempted to peel you off like he was scraping a dead pigeon off his windscreen.

“-- LET ME GO HUMAN, I CAN’T _COPE WITH THE SHAME!_ ”

“-- Do you always throw yourself out of windows when you can’t think on what to do?”

His voice was muffled by the carpet as he used what free limbs he had to inch forward.

“UM? YES? WHO DOESN’T?”

Scrambling to his knees he made another attempt, thwarted by your enviable ankle-brawn. Bracing your feet to the carpet, about hip width and with your back straight, you dug your heels in, successfully pulling him back. You felt like yelping, you were still ill, but couldn’t have him lunging out of your window.

“THE DEADLIFTING! I’M SO PROUD! AND HUMILIATED! GOD, I-- GAH, I DID IT AGAIN, OF COURSE YOU AREN’T INTERESTED--”

Oh God, he thought he had ruined your friendship just as you had at the gym.

… A few things clicked into place.

“I like you too, you self-defenestrating bonehead!”

“DON’T TRY AND SPARE MY FEELINGS, I’VE IMPOSED ENOUGH! STORMING INTO YOUR HOME, GETTING DRUNK AND THROWING MYSELF AT YOU WHILE YOU’RE UNWELL, IT’S OBSCENE!”

“I enjoyed having you here, Papyrus!”

“YOUR EMPTY ATTEMPTS TO ABSOLVE ME OF MY GUILT ONLY MAKE ME FEEL MORE ASHAMED! YOU’RE SUCH A GOOD FRIEND, TO TRY AND MAKE ME FEEL BETTER--”

“You only tried to kiss me, _you didn’t poison the town well with typhoid!_ ”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS BUT I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT WHAT I’M FEELING IS WORSE.”

Desperate times called for desperate measures. You could feel your palms grow sweaty.

“I’ll let you call me Boob-o if you calm down.”

He looked confused, mouthing the word before it hit him like a kick to the pelvis. He clapped his hands to his face.

“ _WHY DID I THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA! BOOB-O!_ LIKE A HIDEOUS SEX-CLOWN!”

He grew ever closer to the window. You wished that he instead felt the need to tear up some paper, or write poems. You were not sure how a habit like this could have developed.

“HUMAN I CAN’T STICK THE LANDING IF YOU’RE HANGING OFF MY LEG!”

“If you’re going to leave can you _please_ use the door,” you begged.

“I CAN’T, I’VE COMMITTED!”

“You shouted at Gaster for this!”

“ _IT’S DIFFERENT WHEN I DO IT!"_

His arm was nearly out while you pulled at his legs, the sunlight hit him in the face. You could only imagine you were attracting attention from outside.

“MY EYES, THEY BURN! I’M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN!”

You rolled your eyes. He was nearly there, he had nearly made it.

Grabbing him by the shirt hard enough to split the fabric at his shoulder, you swung him around, gripped his skull like a nutcracker around a dried almond and planted a long, desperate kiss on his teeth. Papyrus blinked at you slowly, then again, hungover, nearly shirtless, sweaty, and currently halfway out of your window.

“... OH!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly smaller update, but can someone say.... sex scene?! 
> 
> because i can!

Having been wrestled to a standstill, he was sat on your couch, tapping his fingers against one another and tittering like a schoolgirl. He would go to look at you, flush, and begin giggling again. He picked up a cushion and shoved his face into it, kicking his legs a little. It was muffled, but you heard him say, “OH _GOSH_.” As per his request you had closed the curtains, as it felt like the bones of his skull were on fire. You were sat next to him, looking him over, trying to process the squirming feelings in your stomach and the fact that you had just initiated an interspecies relationship. A pleasant, tumbling confusion.

“SO.”

“So.”

You scooted a little closer, as did he.

_“SO.”_

_“So.”_

Closer still, until his hand was tentatively laid over yours. He was vibrating like a blender on a marble counter, soaked with sweat. You, on account of your illness, also did not look your most splendid.

He clamped his hands to the side of your face, took a deep breath and moved in. He pressed his face to yours, firmly, and went ‘MWAH!’

You enjoyed the contact, kissing him back in turn. You pulled away, hands on his shoulders.

“Mwah?”

“MWAH!”

He did it again. You took this opportunity to slip in a little tongue. He nearly bit down in horror.

“HUMAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING _._ ”

“... Frenching. Do you not like it?”

“FIRST OF ALL I DON’T THINK YOU CAN USE THAT AS A VERB, AND SECONDLY THAT WAS… WEIRD? WEIRD.”

“You haven’t done that with the people you’ve kissed?”

He looked bashful.

“OF COURSE I HAVE! FRENCHING. THE OL’... THE OL’ MOIST SPANISH, I’VE DONE THAT AS WELL. TO LIKE EIGHT WHOLE PEOPLE. I’M VERY WELL PRACTICED.”

“You just had your first kiss, didn’t you. You haven’t done any of this at all.”

“OH GEEZE, JUST SAY IT OUT LOUD WHY DON’T YOU!”

He glanced away, then gently chattered his teeth in thought.

“DO THAT AGAIN.”

You did, then pulled away to give him time to think.

“ONE MORE TIME?”

You indulged him.

“... IT’S GROWING ON ME. COULD I, PERHAPS, MAYBE--”

“If you want to make out, we can.”

“OH GOOD, I WAS WORRIED YOU HAD TO DO IT IN INCREMENTS TO GIVE YOU TIME TO BREATHE. TALLY HO.”

You threw yourself at each other, misjudging each other’s position and battering your faces on one another. After apologizing and clutching your skulls, you resumed. He was lying back, one arm draped over his forehead as he took a breather, flushed and panting.

“I WAS CONCERNED ABOUT BEING A BAD KISSER BUT THEN I REMEMBERED I DON’T HAVE LIPS, WHICH REALLY TAKES THE PRESSURE OFF.”  

It took little prompting for him to shed his shirt, and there was only brief hesitance when he unzipped his fly.

Black boxer shorts, with little crossbone prints on them.

“Aw!”

“DON’T AWW-- I’M-- I’M A PARAGON OF STONE FACED MASCULINITY!”

“You’re blushing.”

“ONLY A LITTLE!”

Grinning, hoping the medicine would hold out long enough for you to enjoy yourself, you shed your top, exposing your breasts.

“OHH MY GOD, THERE THEY ARE. THOSE ARE SOME BOSOMS ALRIGHT. OH MY GOD THEY’RE-- THEY’RE BOSOMING VERY WELL. YOU’VE DONE AN EXCELLENT JOB WITH THEM. CONSIDER ME IMPRESSED, BOOB OUT OF BOOB-- TEN, TEN OUT OF TEN.”

“You can squeeze them, if you like.”

_“OHHH MY GOD--”_

You weren’t sure if he was capable, but he looked about ten seconds away from jizzing in his boxers.

Slowly, with shaking, juddering hands, he reached out and grabbed your breast. He gently squeezed it, making a bike horn noise.

“DOOT DOOT.”

“... Papyrus?”

“YES?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’M TRYING TO MAKE MYSELF FEEL LESS NERVOUS BUT IT DIDN’T WORK.”

He honked once more, for good measure.

“I KNOW THIS IS STRANGE AND NEW, TO BOTH OF US, BUT THERE’S NOTHING MORE BEAUTIFUL AND NATURAL THAN TWO PEOPLE EXPLORING EACH OTHER’S BODIES, EVEN IF I AM WORRIED I’LL POP YOU LIKE A BALLOON AND YOUR ORGANS WILL SLOP EVERYWHERE. NOW SLATHER MY DRY BONES WITH YOUR VISCOUS MEAT APPENDAGE AND TELL ME I’M A GOOD BOY.”

He went back to groping, plucking up the courage to move one hand to the small of your back. You wondered if he would be capable of squeezing your ass without foaming at the mouth and passing out. You saw the white thing, like paper under a light, flutter in his chest.

You peered at the light in his chest, growing closer to watch it pulse and squirm, but were stopped as he placed a hand on your shoulder. Your bashful, mutual exploration came to a halt.

“Is that your soul?”

“IT IS.”

“Is being so close… Too much?”

“FOR ME. IT’S LIKE...”

He faltered, trying to frame it in a way you would understand. Thinking on a way to summarize thousands of years of culture and disparate biology.

“IT’S-- IT’S VERY, VERY INTIMATE. VERY. YOU PRETTY MUCH JUST, UM. PROPOSED.”

You nearly choked.

“BUT,” he stressed, “BUT, I KNOW YOU DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING SO SEVERE. HONESTLY, I’M NOT SURE IF YOU CAN EVEN… EVEN BOINK THE WAY WE DO, WITH OUR SOULS. BUT! LET’S NOT FOCUS ON WHAT WE CAN’T DO. LET’S-- LET’S FOCUS ON WHAT WE CAN!”

He resumed honking your breasts and giggling.

“PLUMP BAGS OF DREAMS,” he whispered to himself.

Planting a kiss on his neck deep enough to make him gasp, you slowly, slowly scooted down his boxers until you could make out the large disks that made up his hips, the rest tantalizingly obscured under the fabric. He went to speak, faltered, then blurted what he wanted to say.

“WHEN I’M DOING IT, I USUALLY, UM… LIKE TO STROKE AROUND THE SCIATIC NOTCH.”

You looked at his pelvis, lost, tickling him with your breath.

“... YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS, THAT’S FINE, CAN’T EXPECT YOU TO. THIS IS A LEARNING EXPERIENCE. UM… HOW ABOUT RUBBING THE ILIAC FOSSA?”

You touched his femur.

“A GOOD EFFORT, BUT NO. COCCYX?”

You rubbed his other femur.

“HOW ON EARTH CAN YOU NOT KNOW WHAT THAT ONE IS. SPINE?”

“Spine!”

You knew what a spine was! You were a skeleton sex master.

You gripped his spine, as you had at the gym, and he mewled, rising to meet your touches. Slowly, you ran your fingers down it, watching him writhe.

“A LITTLE-- A LITTLE TO THE LEFT--”

You, like the skeleton sex master you were, moved your hand a little to the left. He yelped. You brought your tongue to lap at the surface. He kicked his legs, squealing in pleasure.

“HUMAN,” he groaned, voice cracking with want, “I WANT TO MAKE YOU _HONK_ LIKE A _FUCK-GOOSE._ ”

The mood, the blistering tension, vanished like a fart in the wind.

“Papyrus?”

“YES, MY DARLING STRAWBERRY LOAF, FIRE OF MY LOINS?”

“I think that’s it for tonight.”

He sighed, his body hitting the cushions with a disappointing ‘puff’.

“IT WAS THE GOOSE THING, WASN’T IT.”

“It was.”

He lay under you, comically woebegone. Approaching illegal levels of smoochable.

“THE THING IS I’M STILL PRETTY… FAR ALONG, SO, UM, DO YOU HAVE A BATHROOM--”

You hopped off, resumed your place on the couch, then told him where it was.

He returned a few minutes later, sweaty and beaming.

“IT’S LIKE REAL LOVEMAKING, BUT TO YOURSELF, IN AN UNFAMILIAR BATHROOM! TIME TO BASK IN THE AFTERGLOW!”

He tumbled upon you with open arms, flopping like tossed ham. And though your title as Boob-o, The Fuck Goose had left you dryer than the Sahara, you were more than happy to indulge your skeleton boyfriend in his insatiable lust for physical affection. He hummed contentedly, playing with your hair, braiding what he could.

“I WOULD WORRY ABOUT BEING SCALPED BY A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT,” he chirped, “IF I HAD HAIR. THE FACT YOU DON’T SPEAKS HIGHLY OF YOU.”

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun blared from underneath a couch cushion. Papyrus rooted around, before retrieving his phone and answering, comfy next to you.

“N’YELLO.”

He looked at you then pointed to himself, then to about rib height. It was Sans, then.

“OH! HEY, HOW ARE YOU.”

The speaker was close enough that you could hear his voice, but not enough to make out what he was saying. Papyrus furrowed his brow.

“HAVEN’T BEEN KIDNAPPED, NO.”

More speaking, more furrowing.

“I’M NOT BEING COERCED TO SAY THIS, EITHER-- DOES GASTER WANT YOU TO ASK THESE?”

Then, relief.

“THOUGHT AS MUCH. I HAVEN’T BEEN SOLD INTO AN INSENSITIVELY NAMED UNDERGROUND FIGHTING RING EITHER. I’M FINE. I WAS AT…”

He paused, you assumed it was for dramatic effect but in reality he was staring at your boobs again.

“THE HUMAN’S.”

You heard a distinct ‘nice one’ and a clack as Sans high fived the phone.

“SHE IS HERE, YES.”

Papyrus waited attentively for the message.

“HE SAYS HELLO, AND TO NOT GET PREGNANT WITH SOME SORT OF SKELETON ABOMINATION.”

“I’ll try my best.”

You dipped to nuzzle at his shoulder, allowing you to hear the call.

“-- anyway, i’ll let you get back to it. sorry for botherin’ you, you know how he gets.”

“OH, IT’S FINE. I NEVER OBJECT TO PHONE CALLS WHERE PEOPLE ASK QUESTIONS ABOUT ME. I’LL BE HOME LATER.”

“yeah. later. hey gaster, he was kidnapped--”

You heard the start of a horrendous shriek before the call abruptly ended.

“OH SANS. WITH HIS JAPES.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may have, perhaps, misled you when i said sex scene ;3c
> 
> EXTREMELY IMPORTANT CHARACTER INFORMATION; papyrus is a bit of a breast man


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting to the REAL SKELETON HOURS NOW. in this chapter there's some light hearted ribbing regarding the whole ectopenis thing, but i can assure you it's all good natured and i'm poking fun at myself more than anything. hope you enjoy it!

Comfortable in the knowledge you weren’t going to die of some rare illness, Papyrus left for his home, giving you peace and quiet for a few days whilst giving you the chance to miss him. Had he not had other commitments you would have asked him to stay a while, but with your headache being what it was you were also thankful for the darkness of your bedroom and cold compress to your head. He would send you rejuvenating pictures of things he had found on the internet, as well as some dishes he had attempted (some being more successful than others, his scones looked perfect but his catering lecturer had to inform him that no, salt and sugar were not interchangeable and that a ‘fistful’ was not an appropriate unit of measurement). You wondered if Gaster knew about the two of you, but given that your eyes hadn’t been eaten by locusts as you slept or some sort of plague had descended upon your lands, or whatever it was he did, you imagined Sans and Papyrus were in the process of breaking the news slowly, or declining to at all. After you had fully recovered, backed with the regenerative power of medication and midnight skeleton memes, he invited you to his home to hang out. He answered the door, still in his uniform.

“OH GOOD, YOU’RE HERE… I’M SAYING, AS IF YOU HADN’T NOTICED FOR SOME REASON. I JUST ARRIVED BACK MYSELF, COME IN.”

You walked in and he shut the door behind you, motioning for you to follow him upstairs. You did so, glancing around, and happened to bump into Sans who was now in fact fully dressed. And next to him was Gaster.

With a prod of the elbow Gaster spoke like he was being forced to.

“I apologize for my behaviour.”

The statement hung there while Papyrus shifted on his heels. You were standing in the aftermath of what was clearly some sort of discussion. He didn’t wait for your response, he began to move to a nearby doorway, Sans following in suit. After looking to Papyrus, then to you, Sans nodded in acknowledgement in a small show of support regarding your relationship. You nodded back in appreciation, as did Papyrus. Papyrus then nodded to you, and you nodded back, Sans then nodded in acknowledgement of that nodding. You all looked to Gaster.

“You’re morons,” he said, before gliding into Sans’ room and clicking the door shut. Sans cleared his throat.

“... that apology might not seem like much, but, uh… it’s more than i thought he’d give you ‘cause of the…”

The war. Sans trailed off.  

“DOES HE KNOW?”

“about you two? yeah. figured it out.”

“AND?”

“he’s ignoring the whole thing which is probably the best we’re gonna get. he’s not stoked but he’s not, uh… furious.”

Sans stretched, popping the bones of his shoulders.

“you two are a thing, huh?”

“DOES ‘A THING’ MEAN ‘IN A RELATIONSHIP’.”

“yeah.”

Papyrus looked at you bashfully, before hardening his exterior into one of resolute confidence because of _course_ you were dating.

“WE ARE.”

“good to hear. ‘s kinda where i thought this was going, anyway.”

Sans stood there, as relaxed and easy as ever. You wondered what he had picked up on that even you had missed.

“How did you know?”

“gut feeling. that’s the way these kinda things end up going, y’know?”

“What ‘kind of things’?”

He smiled knowingly, but it wasn’t to you.

“y’know. _these._ hey papyrus, you give her the moist spanish yet?”

Papyrus balked, hands in the air.

“YOU CAN’T JUST ASK THOSE SORTS OF THINGS. FOR GOD’S SAKES. WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU.”

“what about the dutch fondle.”

Papyrus was sweating, red and quiet.

“... A LITTLE.”  

Sans chuckled good naturedly.

“pfft, worse than teenagers.”

“OH NOW THAT’S RICH COMING FROM YOU! YOU AND GASTER ARE ALWAYS STACKED ON ONE ANOTHER LIKE FLAPJACKS, I CAN’T GET ANYTHING DONE IN THAT LIVING ROOM FOR YOUR MUTUAL NAPPING.”

“well you can get it done today. i’m treating him to coffee. might even get… i dunno, a kweson.”

“A CROISSANT?”

“that’s what i said.”

You saw Papyrus’ brow twitch, but he didn’t press.  

“ISN’T HE TERRIFIED OF CARS. AND PHONES. AND BUSES. AND TRAINS. AND THE SKY. AND EVERYTHING.”

“he is, but a little at a time. the move’s been rough on a lot of the oldies. hey, since you’re back, mind if i borrow your car for a couple of hours?”

Papyrus rooted out the keys from his front pocket, tiny skeleton keychain jingling as he handed them over.

“GO FOR IT, I WAS PLANNING ON STAYING IN ANYWAY. PLEASE. PLEASE, DON’T CRASH IT.”

“wouldn’t dream of it. thanks, papyrus.”  

On cue Gaster opened the door and resumed his place at Sans’ side, and with the context of the day’s events you noticed the figure he cut was frail rather than slender, slightly twisting as if to hide in front of you.

“‘Oldies’. I’m not a bodach you have to account for, I have my wits about me. More so than you, not that it’s difficult.”

Sans didn’t miss a beat.

“hey gaster; what’s a typewriter?”

From his expression Gaster knew he had been bested, but he was petty enough to contest the point anyway. 

“It… It writes.”

“what does it write?”

“Types of… Of writing.”

“good guess. we’ve got the car for the day ya old fuck.”

“But a walk would have given you time to gestate. Perhaps you will finally grow thumbs.”

“always throwing the fetus thing at me. don’t be bitter just because the reaper’s shunning you.”

“Do you ever think about things before you say them. What am I saying, I know you; of course you don’t.”

You could detect nothing but affection between them, even if they were heavy on the ribbing. If you had passed them in the street you might be inclined to think they hated each other. But with the way they carried on it was clear that their bond was deep and mutual. You wondered, absently, what it was they saw in one another. You exchanged an uneasy glance with Gaster, both of you unwilling to break the uncomfortable truce. To your surprise he chuckled, dark and warm.

“Are we affectionately humiliating him now that he’s dipped his wick.”

“oh i was; you missed it.”

Gaster talked as if you were an abstraction, a fling he didn’t know and wouldn’t ever know, as if you yourself didn’t exist.

Papyrus was holding his head in his hands.

“I’M SORRY-- IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR SOME DIGNITY IN THIS HOUSEHOLD?’

“Oh. I wish you had waited,” Gaster said, ignoring him, “I do enjoy my raillery.”   

“REALLY? I HADN’T NOTICED! THAT THING YOU DO, ALL THE TIME, I HADN’T NOTICED!”

“Oh hush, I’ve caught you snickering.”

“THOSE ARE MY CLANDESTINE CHORTLES. THEY DON’T COUNT.”

“I think you will find that they do, Papyrus.”

Papyrus attempted to slowly push you into his ribs. Sans cut him off.  

“can’t _crab maneuver_ away from this one. we’re just teasing anyway.”

“I’LL CRAB WHEREVER I’M ABLE.”

“look, you’re laughing.”

Papyrus stomped his foot, clenching his fists in a dramatic manner.  

“MY GENUINE LOVE AND AMUSEMENT IS IRRELEVANT!”

Sans and Gaster exchanged a wry glance.

“think he’s suffered enough?”

“No, but I have plans later. If we’re going it has to be now.”

“you want to go?”

“No, but if I don’t you’ll nag me anyway. You’re worse than a fishwife.”

Sans’ brows furrowed the tiniest bit, twitched. You saw something tender, and given their reluctance to show traditional affection to one another looking at it felt perverse.

“you ok?”

“I’ll make do. You know me.”

With that Sans said his goodbyes and Gaster descended down the stairs, not acknowledging your presence in the slightest. The door clicked shut, the car engine revved to life, and Papyrus turned to you.

“MY ROOM MIGHT BE A LITTLE TRICKY TO FIND, BUT HERE’S AN EASY WAY TO REMEMBER WHICH ONE IT IS. IT HAS MY NAME ON IT.”

That would indeed be an easy way to remember it. There were several signs pasted to the door.

‘NO GIRLS ALLOWED.’

‘NO BOYS ALLOWED.’

‘PAPYRUS ALLOWED.’

“I HAD TO WRITE THAT FOR MYSELF AFTER I BECAME STUCK OUT HERE FOR TWO HOURS,” he said. “YOU CAN COME IN. GUESTS DON’T COUNT AS PEOPLE.”

He opened the door and ushered you in. The walls were a deep, muted red, neatly adorned with posters from shows he liked. It smelled like candles. In the corner of the room was a racecar bed, and next to that was what appeared to be a table. On his table was an arranged collection of action figures with space in the middle just large enough for a desk lamp, a half disassembled Rubik’s cube and a large bag of lemon creams that he appeared to be working his way through.

“YOU CAN TAKE A HANDFUL OF THOSE. I DON’T EAT ALL THAT MANY, BUT IF SANS SEES THEM HE’LL CLAIM THEY ‘FELL ON THE FLOOR’ AND ‘HAD TO BE DISPOSED OF'. BY ‘EATING THEM’. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY HE LIES ABOUT THE FIRST PART.”

You popped one in your mouth, taking in the rest of the room. There was a bookshelf and in the rightmost corner was a computer set up on a desk, all the wires sorted and tucked away neatly. You were given a sense of what he would look like when he spoke to you online, and you felt the picture be filled in just a little. It was a nice feeling, to learn small details. Little moments that pooled into easy familiarity. You examined the Rubik’s cube, the stickers peeling away from being applied and reapplied.

“PEERING AT MY FINE COLLECTION I SEE. WELL, I DON’T LIKE TO BRAG, BUT I’M A REAL PUZZLE COGNOSCENTE. YOU CAN TELL I’M INTO IT BECAUSE I HAD TO LOOK UP WHAT THAT WORD MEANS BEFORE YOU WALKED IN, ACCOUNTING FOR THIS EXACT CONVERSATION, WHICH MEANS I’M REALLY DEVOTED! BUT THE REAL PUZZLE, MY DELIGHTFUL FLAN… IS LIFE.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“I’M TRYING TO BE BROODIER LATELY, HOW WAS THAT?”

“Good. Try squinting a little.”

He did, looking forlornly into the distance.

“Perfect.”

“I KNEW IT WOULD BE,” he gushed, “I’M THE PICTURE OF STOIC, UNEXPLAINED ANGER.”

He took a step forward to close the gap before catching wind of something and pausing. He looked disgusted.

“URGH, I’M ALL SWEATY. THE KITCHENS, I SWEAR… I’M GOING TO HOP IN THE SHOWER. I WON’T BE LONG. YOU CAN GET COMFY, PICK A BOOK OUT FROM THE SHELF, MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME! THE WIFI PASSWORD IS STUCK TO MY COMPUTER MONITOR, ON THE PINK NOTE.”

You took a peek at it. There it was, next to another note that said ‘BUY MILK’ and ‘UNRUBIKS THE CUBE’.

He went silent in thought before walking to his desk, rooting around in the drawer before pulling out the small bottle of cologne you had seen before, trotting over, then spritzing his pillow and handing it to you, the familiar scent stirring your chest.

“IT’S LIKE I’M REALLY THERE! SMOOCH THIS IF YOU NEED TO.”

With that he left to go wash. You were left with access to the internet, his bookshelf, and what was now some sort of smooching pillow. Curious about his tastes, you began to peruse his books.

He seemed to have a real fondness for detective novels. Though, upon thinking on it, a crime was like a grim puzzle to be solved so you could see his interest even if the thought of him being engrossed in a story about murder and double crossing hadn’t occurred to you. You continued to browse.

One book caught your eye. On the uppermost shelf, in plain view, appeared to be a battered, years old copy of a Fluffy Bunny book. With ‘real fake touchable fur’ on the inside. You could only imagine the sentimental value. It was almost like a weight, preventing you from touching it even in curiosity. You set your sights on the rest of the shelf, melting just a little at such a small, sweet thing.    

You noticed the distinct outline of bad romance novels, about a dozen, tucked all the way in the bottom right. You took out a few to read the blurbs and noted that Papyrus seemed to have a fascination with women in bodices having illicit affairs with diplomats and counts from foreign lands, and saucy maids tumbling over themselves to fawn over the new, muscular whaler in town. They were all Human as well, with only one or two Monster books sprinkled in here and there. You wondered if he was nursing a kink or if there was just more Human literature available regarding sweaty dalliances. You didn’t mind either way. It’s not as if an attraction to Humans would be news to you. And in the corner of that corner was a hardback, obnoxiously pink and secreting glitter all over the shelf.

‘The Dating Book.’

That was a bold claim if ever you had seen one. You took it, sat on his bed, placed the smooching pillow upon your lap and began reading. There were some dog eared pages. Curious, you turned to the first.

… What was a _dating hud?_

Looking at this page filled you with an existential dread that you couldn’t quash regarding your place in the universe so you turned the page and never spoke of it again to anyone. You were greeted with obnoxiously peppy advice, like that of a teen magazine.

‘How to reel in your soulmate! They’ll be so turned on they’ll drown in drool.’

You closed the book, choked back a gag at the awful phrasing and braced yourself before opening it again. Arranged in the gaudy, borderline fluorescent pages were dozens of little tidbits of advice regarding the different topics, which were printed on the upper left corner of the page for easy reading. It reminded you of those glossy magazines that you would read at work when a copy was left on the break table. Telling you about an excellent way to apply your eyeshadow, before being followed up immediately with a story about spontaneously exploding breast implants. You scanned the ‘seduction’ page, about halfway into the book.

‘Remember to be mysterious and aloof! Part of the fun is digging into the little details!’

That one was both circled and underlined. Apparently this was his method of picking up women. You couldn’t comment on how silly it was because it had worked. Underneath you saw other ‘hot tips’, with handwritten notes dotted around it in a different coloured pen. These must have happened after the mugging, or even after you had sat down in the cafe.

‘Draw attention to your _best features_ (nudge nudge wink wink) with rhinestones and glitter! You’ll be the life of the party!’

… Terrible, this advice was terrible. Whilst you didn’t consider yourself the living embodiment of Aphrodite you did know that adorning your vagina like a disco ball and unveiling it to random passersby in a spontaneous genital light show was frowned upon at best. Under this was a small addition. It said ‘BODY GLUE _MANDATORY_ AFTER PRACTICE RUN.’

‘Cook dinner topless!’

Oh you liked that one, you would enjoy watching him doing that.  

‘Be sure to use up any bacon grease!’

No! No! Wrong! Bad! No! Papyrus, despite being as naive as he was, appeared to pick up on this as well as it was followed by a ‘I WILL NOT BE DOING THAT.’

‘If you feed each other ice cream in the dark, you can lick up any spills from their skin! The hot and cold feel drives people wild!’

‘THE LACK OF TONGUE IS NOT THE BIGGEST PROBLEM WITH THIS IDEA. WILL CONSIDER ICE CREAM FEEDING WITH LIGHTS ON.’

To your glee he appeared to not agree with many of the tips, only circling the ones he really enjoyed. Your eyes flitted between the rejected ones, all followed with notes on why as a form of constructive criticism, as if the author of the book knew what sex actually was and hadn’t interpreted it from cave paintings and fuzzy radio static.

‘To cover up the sounds of you _getting down_ , put on a horror movie! Anyone listening in will think you’re both scared out of your wits!’

‘WHY IS THE SOUND OF MAIMING AN ACCEPTABLE SEX NOISE FOR YOU. WHAT IS THIS. THIS ISN’T ROMANTIC. DID YOU WRITE THIS FROM JAIL. I PAID FOR THIS BOOK.’

‘Put a donut on your member and let her eat it off! Mind the teeth!’

‘WHAT IS A MEMBER? I’M NOT IN ANY CLUBS, NOT AFTER THE FLOWEY FANCLUB DISSOLVED.’

What was a Flowey.

‘Lick the soft spot in front of her ears! It drives the ladies wild!’

‘ISN’T THAT THE FACE? ISN’T EVERY PART OF A HUMAN AT LEAST A LITTLE SOFT? DO PEOPLE ENJOY THIS?’

Who wrote this. Who wrote this, and on what planet did they live.

‘Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen! If you keep your distance and throw in a few comments about things she dislikes about herself then she’ll be clamouring for your attention!’

This one was underlined, quite pointedly.

‘SHE’S NOT A SPANIEL.’

Above that, you noticed a little hand drawn crossword as he became distracted, before the pen trailed back to the statements.

‘Put your thumbs in your belt-hooks to display your _virile masculinity!_ ’

This one was circled. This was the pinnacle of seduction. To humour Papyrus you gave the pillow a tiny smooch.

‘Sexy bonus round! Fellas, if you get a vaccuum cleaner and hold it over the clitoris, she’ll go _wild!_ ’

‘VACUUM ‘CLITORIS’. I THINK SHE WILL LIKE THIS.’

You would not, no. You could hear Papyrus singing in the shower and missing every note. You also, worryingly, heard some sort of scouring noise like wire on a plate but left him to it. Now enthralled, you turned to the next marked page.  

‘What kind of lover are YOU?’

You decided to look into this at once.

‘Questions that will tell you if you’re a _hero_ or a _zero_ in bed!’

The entirety of the quiz was crossed out.

‘UNNECESSARY; HERO.’

You heard the squeak of the faucet and the notes dying away. You read a little more before putting the book neatly on his bedside table. He clacked to the door and leaned in the frame.

“AH, THAT WAS REFRESHING. NOTHING LIKE GIVING THE BONES A SCRUB AFTER A LONG DAY OF-- OH NO! OH NO, WHAT’S THIS! MY TOWEL, IT… IT APPEARS TO BE SLIPPING! ALL THIS HOLDING IT AROUND MY WAIST IN A VIRILE AND SEXUAL MANNER JUST ISN’T ENOUGH!”

He slowly let the towel around his waist ‘slip’, still keeping his pelvis covered, after attempting to pick a part out from his tailbone subtly. He was now nearly naked, damp, and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead as if he had been slighted at a ball while you watched on with growing affection.

“OH NO, I’M ALSO OVERCOME WITH THE URGE TO BEND OVER A LOT AND SHOW BOTH MY PHYSICAL STRENGTH AND SENSUAL FORM. GOD! GOD, WHAT A NIGHTMARE! MY SHAMEFUL, SUPPLE BODY, THE ONLY CURE IS FOR YOU TO TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES AS WELL SO I DON’T FEEL SELF CONSCIOUS AS WELL! FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME, HUMAN!”

“You’re horny, aren’t you.”

“WHAT GAVE ME AWAY.”

“You could just say ‘I want to have sex’,” you teased.

“WELL, THERE’S NO FUN WITHOUT SOME SEDUCTION.”

He sauntered over and peeled away his towel to unveil a huge, dripping, throbbing nothing.

“HUMAN... IF YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK DISAPPOINTED CAN YOU PLEASE WAIT UNTIL YOU AREN’T STARING AT MY PELVIS, YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE ME A COMPLEX.”

“Where’s the dong,” you said, struggling to properly articulate yourself as the absurdity of your statement hit you.  

“WHERE’S THE WHAT NOW.”

“The-- Where’s the dong.”

He looked at his pelvis, as if he too was expecting it.

“I MEAN… YOU CAN STARE AS HARD AS YOU WANT. THAT’S-- WHAT YOU’RE SEEING IS WHAT YOU’RE GETTING.”

“I thought there would be a penis.”

“... HUMAN YOU CAN’T JUST WISH A COMPLEX SET OF WORKING GENITALIA INTO EXISTENCE.”

“... Are you sure?”

“YES I’M SURE. WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU EXPECTING?”

“I thought you would… You know, we would watch a movie, you would enter some kind of… Skeleton heat, or something? And whip out your throbbing calcium penis while I, you know, slap you around a little. In a sexy way. Not a police way.”

“HUMAN… THAT’S STUPID. AND I’M A LITTLE EMBARRASSED FOR YOU. WE HAVE TO ENJOY MY BARE BONY PELVIS. YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO PERFORM ONE OF THOSE FELLACIOS BUT I THINK WE CAN COME UP WITH A WORKAROUND OR TWO. WE JUST HAVE TO BE CREATIVE! OPEN OUR MINDS, AND ALSO OUR PANTS AND LEGS.” 

He motioned to his pelvis and went ‘TA DA!’

He threw himself down on the bed, one leg kicked up, head resting on his hands and wiggling his brows.

“LET’S GET PROPERLY STARTED, WITH NO GEESE. NOW PLEASE HAND ME YOUR BATHYKOLPIAN JIGGLERS.”

You took your top off, taking the time to tease him by slowly removing your bra.

“ALLOW ME.”

He went to unhook the back suavely. He failed, fumbling at the clasps with one hand, before scooting it around as much as he could and concentrating.

“Would you like me to--?”

“NO, NO, I HAVE TO LEARN.”

With more fumbling and a mumbled curse the bra was off, and so he resumed his place as confident voyeur, with the ease of a practiced lothario that isn’t bested by tiny metal clasps in underwear for minutes at a time. You undid your trousers to save his pride, slowly peeling those off as well. You lay on the bed in front of him in only your underwear as he loomed over you, arms on either side, reveling in the fantasy of being pinned down by a mysterious, ravenous creature set on only one thing.

He hooked his fingers in your underwear and pulled them off.  

“I WANT TO SHOW YOU THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE-- WHAT THE _HELL_ IS THAT!”

The fantasy fell away.

“What?”

He motioned to your groin, dumbfounded, like he was staring at the engine of a non-functioning car at the roadside.

“HUMAN… WHERE’S THE DONG.”

“Where’s the what now.”

He gently pried open your outer lips to shout at the insides for scaring him.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT-- WHAT IS ALL THIS! LOOK AT IT! IT LOOKS PAINFUL, HOW DO YOU SIT DOWN WITH THIS JUST… BEING THERE? DOESN’T IT HURT? IT LOOKS LIKE BOLOGNA STUFFED IN A CARDBOARD TUBE. WHEN DOES THE BIG FLESH ROD FLOP OUT.”

You were baffled.

“It doesn’t. You’re thinking of the wrong thing. Is this your first time seeing a vagina?”

“THAT’S WHAT THAT IS? I THOUGHT YOU HAD THE OTHER THING.”

“I do not.”

“BUT I DID SO MUCH RESEARCH ON IT! I WAS GOING TO BLOW YOUR MIND, AND GENITALS, WITH MY HIDDEN TECHNIQUES.”

He pinched the bridge of his nasal bone with a gentle click.

“I STUDIED FOR THE WRONG TEST.”

“It’s not _that_ different,” you said, “compared to… Whatever some Monsters have going on. You’ll see.”

He steeled himself. He then poked a fold with his pinky finger.

“BOOP.”

“Please refrain from booping.”

He looked lost.

“WHAT DO I DO?”

“Stick your fingers in.”

He braced his fist to your opening and you clamped your legs shut.

_“Not all at once!”_

“NOT ALL AT ONCE, OK, ALRIGHT, LEARNING, KNOWLEDGE IS A THING THAT IS OCCURRING RIGHT NOW.”

He pressed a finger to your entrance, unsure of how hard to push.

“IT’S NOT GOING TO… TAKE OFF MY FINGER, IS IT? AND DIGEST IT FOR NUTRITION.”

“Statistically, no. Give me a minute first. It’ll hurt if you go straight in.”

“WHAT DO I DO NOW?”

“Romantic things. Honk my boobs. Kiss my neck--”

“DONE.”

He cupped your breast with one hand, rubbed at your slit clumsily with the other and scraped his teeth gently along your neck, purring with affection. You lay there, letting him dote on you while your hands explored the hard surface of his body. You brushed against the front of his pelvis, he yipped. He probed gently.

“OH! OH, IT’S WARM…”

He slid his finger inside you, the experience novel and unknown to him. He kept it there.

“ARE YOU HAVING AN ORGASM YET.”

“You have to move it.”

“THIS SEEMS VERY COMPLEX.”

He withdrew, then pushed in again.

“HOW ABOUT NOW.”

“More than that.”

He got the idea, establishing a slow, wonky rhythm. His inexperience was apparent. He was concentrating, and to your surprise he pressed his thumb to your clitoris and rubbed slowly. You gasped.

“I HAD A HUNCH YOU WOULD LIKE THAT,” he stammered, “THE RUBBING ISN’T TOO DIFFERENT TO-- TO WHAT I DO, SO--”

You hissed, legs tensing, and his words fell away.

“YOU SHOULD PROBABLY DRINK SOME WATER, YOU… SEEM TO BE LEAKING A LOT.”

While he was incredibly enthusiastic, willing to do whatever you instructed in a mission to learn, you were still introducing him to something totally new and expertise came with awareness and practice. He would go too slow, too hard, too fast, and every time your climax would creep in it would fall away. You reached a compromise, placing his hand over your own as you fucked yourself, legs parted and bed creaking. His attempts to match your movements fell away as he sat back and gawked at you, until you watched his hand travel south. True to his word the way he pleasured himself wasn’t dissimilar at all, rubbing circles on the frontmost part of his pelvis, but his motions were harder, faster, too painful to flesh.

“OH WOW, NOW THAT’S-- THAT’S NEW…”

You looked at him, back arching and legs twitching.

“YOU’RE GETTING CLOSE, AREN’T YOU? I WANT TO SEE!”

You parted your legs as you worked, letting him squash bashfully at your legs, your breasts, anywhere he could get to with his free hand. Croaking, you came, inner thighs soaked, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing until you couldn’t take it anymore. When you opened your eyes Papyrus was rutting against his hand.  

“WOWIE…”  

Swept up in lust you went to paw at his groin, confused when he stopped you.

“WELL… I THOUGHT THE WAY I D-DO IT WOULD TRANSFER OVER AND MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD, BUT SINCE IT DIDN’T I’M NOT SURE IF IT WILL WORK THE-- OH MY GOD-- T-THE OTHER WAY EITHER. I WOULD HATE FOR YOU TO FEEL BAD--”

In one smooth motion you dropped his legs over your shoulders, lifted his pelvis with your hands and took his symphysis into your mouth, sucking on it. You were thankful nobody else was home, it caught him so off-guard he squawked.

_“OH GOD NEVERMIND I’M A BUFFOON CARRY ON FOREVER PLEASE.”_

Chuckling gently, you did. He began to pull on your hair, squirming, bobbing his legs.

“THIS-- I-I CAN’T-- WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT _TONGUES!_ ”

He was laughing, mouth open, panting, drooling, pulling your hair and pushing you into him. A sweaty, sticky mess.

“OH MY GOD-- OH MY GOD-- I DIDN’T-- I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THIS WAS AN OPTION OHH MY GOD--”  

You continued, rubbing away with your tongue, close to the point of scraping. He thrashed and kicked and howled, if you didn’t know him enough you would say he was playing it up. He whapped at your shoulder a few times, totally overwhelmed.

The angle made it awkward for him but he reached into his ribcage and pawed frantically at his soul, like a starving animal at meat. He grit his teeth and braced himself, locking up before going limp, pushing your head to the rhythm of his climax. The small light in his chest, grew, bloomed, then the excess melted away into the air. And then there was the laughter, the loud, genuine laughter, it came barreling out of his chest as he gathered his bearings, sincere and breathless. Finally his mewling stopped and his thighs stopped clenching at your neck. He lay there, petting your hair. You moved up to flop beside him, before he gently lifted you and placed you on top like a comforting weight. He was playing with your hair again, giggling, his voice deeper, slower.

“TONGUES. TONGUES ARE GOOD. EXCELLENT, EVEN. I’M A LITTLE ENVIOUS.”  

He nuzzled you, pressing you so close that it stung.

“DO YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO BE TOMORROW?”

“No,” you said, lids heavy, your body feeling dense with afterglow.

“ME NEITHER. WANT TO STAY OVER?”

You were halfway to dozing off.

“M’yeah…”

“GOOD! THIS IS NICE. COMFY. I AM THE PANCAKE AND YOU ARE THE SWEATY KNOB OF BUTTER. READY TO NAP. GETTING READY TO SETTLE DOWN. SLEEP. NOD OFF. SHUT DOWN. LOG OUT--”

You smooched him gently on the mouth. He kept talking despite this, but you closed your eyes anyway.

You lay there, peacefully, the world fogging and ebbing away as exhaustion carried you off. As you slowly slipped into sleep, you were suddenly woken up by the sensation of having your cheek softly chewed on. You furrowed your brow but kept your eyes closed, trying to figure out what he was doing. Papyrus stopped, sighed, then gently bit your nose. You opened your eyes and looked at him.

“OH. YOU’RE AWAKE.”

“What are you doing?”

He looked vulnerable again, and he was too tired to put on a show.

“I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO GIVE YOU A KISS, A REAL ONE” he admitted. “BUT I’M HITTING SOME SNAGS.”

He looked away from you, becoming soft spoken in a way that was so foreign it unsettled you.

“... Y-YOU DON’T MIND THAT I’M NOT A HUMAN, DON’T YOU?”

“Not at all.”

“ARE YOU SURE?”

You braced yourself on your elbow.

“What brought this on.”

“OH, NOTHING REALLY. I WAS JUST WONDERING.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not a Monster, do you?”

“NOT AT ALL.”

“Then you know how I feel.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but wrung his fingers in thought before doing away with the notion entirely.

“RIGHT. OF COURSE. GOODNIGHT, STRAWBERRY LOAF.”

He was very quiet. It was not difficult to sleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic tackles the big questions. Where IS the dong? Maybe it was in our hearts all along. Fun fact, those sex tips are based on real advice from Cosmo. I altered a few, but they’re not all that different.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep things quite general, but i’m saying balls to it and using british terms because it’s easier for me. motorways! greggs! constant, soul crushing rain, broken up with unbearable heat! 
> 
> meat pies!

Papyrus' sexual appetite was as formidable as it was constant. You barely saw the outside of his room in the month after, and sitting down was difficult, but it passed in sweaty, joyful bursts. In a mutual, giggling embrace. Once he had settled on a technique, clumsy though it was, you were both emboldened; tumbling half naked onto the kitchen floor, on the couch, on the stairs, and, in one particularly dangerous escapade, in his parked car on the outskirts of town. You weren’t caught, but if you had been he proposed that you both speed away to avoid the shame, but you pointed out that he was one of the only skeletons on the planet and thus would be easily recognized. He blushed, agreed, and then dove pelvis first onto your face with a whoop. Currently, he was knuckle deep in you, on your bedroom floor. He bit your shoulder until he drew blood, you clamped around his hand, and he began the process of tending to you, which involved flopping your body on the bed like a kipper on a barbecue.  

“Quite the honeymoon period,” you panted, vision foggy. Your hair was pasted to your back in sweat and you could feel the imprint of the carpet leaving your back. He was resting his hands on his chin, all bashfulness regarding nudity gone.

“WHAT’S THAT?”

“You know; the start of a relationship. Everything’s great. We’re horny all the time. Birds sing a lot.”

“WHY WOULD IT BEING THE START CHANGE THINGS,” he chirped, “THIS IS THE WAY I’VE ALWAYS BEEN. I’M HUNGRY FOR FINE FOOD. AND NOW WOMBS. YOUR WOMB.”

_“Oh my God.”_

“YOU’RE VERY PRETTY.”

You were a young couple, doing young couple things, in a young couple relationship. And with it being his first all these experiences were new and untainted to him. He had no worries stemming from previous experiences and so he tackled it without reticence, in earnest, trusting glee. And out of all the people he could have chosen, you were glad he had chosen you.  

Your train of thought was interrupted. He had seductively doused himself in honey. He had stuck the sex-towel to his groin with it. ‘Sex-towel’ was a misnomer. No humping happened.

 

* * *

 

You were coming out of work when you received a text from an unknown number.

‘human. got something important to show you. meet me at grillby’s tonight at six.’

This phone number presented a great mystery to you, or it would have, if you were an idiot. You called it and he picked up on the third ring.

“yo, something up?”

“Sans?”

“yeah that’s me.”

“Do you always text out of nowhere and start making demands, what if I have plans? You didn’t even demand politely. What if I’m not free tonight? What if I’m just swimming in offers for company and places to be and I don’t have the time to cave.”

“busy?”

“No, but still. Did Papyrus give you my number?”

“yeah, uh... meet me at grillby’s at eight, _please._ ”

“I’m glad you asked; that would be fun.”

“ok.”

“Alright.”

“i’m pretty bad on the phone.”

“Indeed.”  

He hung up. For all his love of prodding you couldn’t help but laugh when the tables were turned. After showering, dressing and leaving, you made your way to Grillby’s, as you had the first time. And, again, you were the only Human in the queue. You reached the front. The jellyfish riddle man was here, and he recognized you, ‘brows’ narrowing in mirth.

“Oh, it’s you. You know the deal. ‘You see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I?’”

“Your mother.”

He looked you over. He motioned inwards.

 _“... Proceed.”_  

You gave him a nod, the good sportsman that you were, and set about finding Sans. Ah, there he was. That wasn’t difficult. He waved you over, elbow not even leaving the table. In front of him were two familiar drinks.

“yo.”

“Hey.”

“got curious about what it was you ordered a while back. i thought they looked nice, so i got us a couple. hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Thank you.”

“no problem. it’s a ‘bailey’s comet’ if you were wondering. the pun’s pretty cute.”

He went to drink it. The liquid sloshed out of the glass and down his front. He was a bit on fire. And, as the seconds passed, a lot on fire. He blinked, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his shirt ablaze.

“oh. fire.”

“Yes.”

“huh.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing something about that.”

“oh yeah, totally. you got a towel, or something…?”

“Not to hand.”

“hmm. damn.”

You both looked at the growing blaze, considering your options. He sipped his now flameless drink. Nobody was turning around.

“yo this is really nice.”

“Are you in pain?”

“tons.”

“Hmm. Grillby?”

“grillby.”

Sans politely raised his hand to grab his attention. Grillby dutifully cleaned his glass, then stopped to sip at his ice water. It was a humid day.

“Uh--”

“no, no,” Sans said, aflame, “give him a minute.”

As Grillby sipped he surveyed the bar absently, before doing a double take so intense he nearly snapped his neck. Grillby leapt the counter with astonishing grace, then scrambled over and began beating Sans with a tea towel. You were unsure if this was the result of pent up rage, or a desire to save Sans, but in any case the flames were extinguished, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of his shirt. You saw his ribs, and underneath it, his soul. You couldn’t help but look. Grillby looked as if he was going to say something, took a deep breath, placed his hands in the air in a deliberate and calm manner, and walked away.

“thanks grillbz. ah, what a guy. i gotta leave a tip for him someday. anyway, so-- whoa, whoa, eyes are up here.”

You blinked, before realizing the implication and apologizing profusely. Sans shifted in his seat, aware you didn't mean anything by it but unnerved nonetheless. 

“eh… don’t worry about it. cultural thing. i’m learning, you’re learning, we’re all learning.”

He zipped up his jacket.

“there we go. now you can enjoy your drink without resisting the urge to jump my bones, _and_ i’m not naked. geeze, i know you monster fetish people can’t control yourselves around a prime specimen, but please, i’m taken. you’re dating my brother. plus you’re weird lookin’.”

You didn’t rise to his obvious chaffing, but did throw him a glance. It occurred to you that he probably wouldn’t tease someone he didn’t approve of in some fashion, so you took it as a mark of respect. 

He became grave.

“it’s about papyrus.”

You braced your hands to the table, worried.

“Is he in trouble?”

“no.”

You wondered what he could be talking about. It clicked.

“Ohh.”

“hm?”

“Oh, I see. You called me here for the ‘don’t touch my baby brother’ thing, right? The big speech, I'm not going to hurt--”

He put his hands up to stop you.

“you’re jumping the gun there, that’s not it at all. it’s not like you’re gonna murder him or anything. who he waves his pelvis at is none of my business. he’s in his twenties, i can’t go wadin’ in like that. that would be weird. ‘oh, if you hurt him i’ll make your life hell’. it’s immature, right? what kinda person would start making demands like that? i mean, even if stuff doesn’t work out, you’re both adults, you know what you’re doing. it’s not life or death. arguments happen. as long as you don’t do anything _real bad_ \--”

He let that hang.

“-- then there’s not gonna be any issues. don’t worry about it. you seem cool.”  

That was a relief at least. You were not sure you had the patience to deal with an angry, overprotective big brother, so you appreciated the respectful distance Sans was content to adhere to.

“Then why did you call me here?”

Sans pulled out his phone, then handed it to you.

“never finished showing you the pictures from the album. go ahead.”

You looked to the phone, then him, then to the phone. The back was grimy, you weren’t sure when this was last cleaned.

“That’s it?”

“that’s it.”

“No scary ulterior motive?”

“none.”

There was that cute baby picture. What a fat baby Papyrus was. He would lock himself in the closet until the shame passed, once you told him about this.

“i was heading out of the house for a bit anyway. i thought it would be cool for us to hang out a little. get to know each other. look at baby pictures. start a fire.”

You felt as if he was getting to know you more than you were getting to know him but you did appreciate the gesture, as well as his earnest, glowing love for Papyrus. You scrolled through, until you found a picture you didn’t recognize. It was a square of blue, unvacuumed carpet. You were unsure as to why it was even here.

“funny story,” Sans said, picking up on your thoughts, “i thought i was taking a picture of him for his fourth birthday. i click the button, look back, and he’s gone. and the door’s open. turns out he had opened the door, stripped naked and chased a cat down the street, all in the space of about three seconds. boy he… he was fast.”

You tittered at the embarrassing memory, storing it away for gentle hassling purposes.

“What did your parents do?”

“next one’s cute too,” he said, ignoring you.

You scrolled. It was a selfie of a beaming Sans and a painfully uneasy Gaster, forcing a smile. Sans was popping a truly legendary squat in front of the alligator cage at the zoo, but Gaster wasn’t into it and could only muster up a mortified hunch.

“oh, uh, not that one.”

You scrolled again. It was Papyrus, at age…

You squinted.

“ten.”

… Ten, wearing sunglasses, a backwards cap, a flame shirt that was at least six sizes too large and jean shorts. Under his arm was a battered skateboard that looked too small for him.

“he was really into skating. in theory. i had to hold his shoulders when he was on the board otherwise he would cry. i don’t think he ever got that one down but hey, he had fun. tried to draw tattoos on himself but, uh--”

He patted his ribs for effect.

“-- not much surface area. but they looked pretty good for what they were, he’s creative. you could nearly believe he had a sick tribal or two.”

You zoomed in on his face. His teeth were wonky, sticking outward slightly and misaligned, but he looked as if he was going to burst at the seams from youthful exuberance. You imagined getting him to stay still long enough for a picture was a challenge.

“... Maybe not the goatee.”

“yeah, that one… that one wasn’t convincing."

You looked at the next picture. You clutched your hand to your chest. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“oh,” Sans beamed, “oh he _hates_ it when i tell people about this one.”

On your screen was an ungainly, brace-wearing Papyrus, looking forlornly out of an apartment window with a black and white filter over the top. He was wearing black and red clothes that didn’t fit, and an expression that didn’t suit him.

“his first plan,” Sans said, ”was to hold a big birthday party, but not invite anybody from his class so he could rake in the ‘i’m a cool loner’ points. i told him i wasn’t paying for that, so he came up with something else. that picture is from his, uh, what did he call it… ‘life is pain and i am handsome’ collection.”

You watched this, astonished.

“-- so his fifteenth birthday rolls around. i gave him a little money as a present, right? he goes and out and gets one of those spiked bracelets, you know the ones. now those things aren’t my scene but hey, he was into them. he swaggers back in the front door, all gothed up, he’s feeling good. course i was walking outside when he was coming in and wham, hit me right in the face. knocked me out for two minutes. it was like getting taken out with a mace. when i came to he was cradling my body and shouting ‘goth did this, goth did this’. smudged his eyeliner. i was fine. just a little dazed. i don’t think goth did that.”

Finishing his drink, he sighed.

“he wasn’t into it after that.”  

You looked to the next picture. It was of an older Papyrus and Sans, outside a wooden home, surrounded by snow and cardboard boxes. There was Undyne, Alphys, two large bipedal--

You squinted.

\-- Sheep people, and Mettaton, the celebrity. On the end of the row was a child, no older than twelve.

“the big move up.”

You couldn’t help but notice Sans was popping another truly mythical squat in this picture as well.

After that was miscellaneous, blurred pictures of the surface, some obscured by objects in frame, the other by a slender skeletal thumb. A blackbird, a postbox, a car, the beach, their home, Papyrus in his uniform, an odd looking tree; the barrage of mundane, everyday things continued, framed as the most precious memories there could be.

“i didn’t take those ones, but he sends me them from his phone every so often.”

A funny number-plate, a particularly pink looking sky, a fish, a dog, a cat in the distance, a shiny rock, a cloud that looked like a porpoise, and, at the very end, a picture of you and Papyrus together, smiling and half asleep on his bed. This had been taken two weeks ago.

“he was so proud of himself when he talked to you for the first time. ‘sans, i was so cool and aloof, i didn’t even tell her my name. and i put some guy in a chokehold’. ladies love that, apparently. not so sure, but hey, that all worked out. i can’t criticise.”

He chuckled.

“What… What was the first thing he noticed about me?”

“he didn’t tell me, but i’m pretty on the ball. tits.”

You were not surprised.

“oh, uh, not that it's all to, um…”

The pause was pregnant.

“i don’t really want to think about that stuff too hard,” he admitted.

That was fair. You looked at the picture again. Your stomach flipped, just as it first had. Sans watched you.

“you like it here?”

“I do. You’re good company.”

“that’s sweet,” he said, “but i meant the bar. you know grillby does food? good stuff, too. shame about the name.”

You agreed.

“It’s so stupid.”

“it’s so stupid. came up with it myself.”

“... _You_ came up with ‘ _Grillby’s Reloaded’.”_

“haha, yeah. ain’t it terrible?”

“ _Why.”_

“named it after the best matrix movie. i said it as a joke, but he really took to it, and i didn’t have the heart to tell him where it came from. he doesn’t even know what a matrix is. though as someone that’s seen those movies, neither do i.”

This was a man without morals or taste. You couldn’t contain your disgust. But you powered through it. And despite his truly degenerate taste in entertainment, you could see yourself forming a friendship with Sans. He was unpretentious. You had no idea how someone so laid back had ended up with Gaster. You put your trust in him and hoped his fondness for flippant speech went beyond his own.

“You and Gaster; what’s the deal with that?”

You were correct, he didn’t even bat an eye.

“i worked on this big project after i got my degree early, called the core. i was assigned as his assistant. turned out my job was to make him more, uh… palatable. to be a go between. that lasted a couple of years, we grew closer and bam, there we were. just happens.”

He looked very fond, drawing patterns in the table with his finger.

“if you can take the ribbing he’s really fun to be around. he can take it, too. you have to give as good as you get for him to warm up.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“for the whole boss/worker thing? nah. it wasn’t _supposed_ to happen according to the rules, but him being tight with the king helped. it all worked out.”

“Then what happened?”

“pardon?”

“Did you find a different job? Papyrus told me you both left.”

The lights of his eyes grew dim and it was clear you hadn’t just struck a nerve, you had grabbed it with both hands and pulled it like a stubborn turnip from the ground. He maintained his civility because you weren’t cruel, just blundering.

“rough stuff, anyway-- i did odd jobs for a couple of years, before the barrier fell. ran a hot dog stand, did some sentry work, sold concert tickets, did a little stand up. i was so short they called me a ‘sit-down’.”

“... You went from incredibly advanced lab work, with a doctorate you got _years_ early, to selling _hot dogs?”_

“someone has to sell them. what, you think people can eat my diploma? i’m not gonna stand by and let people starve, not while there’s dogs to flog. getting back into the research stuff now but that… is gonna take some time. a little easing.”

“I don’t know anything about the field,” you admitted, “are there not many jobs?”

“oh no, no. we’re guaranteed to get something. places’ll be fighting tooth and nail over us, probably, gaster especially. he invented the whole thing. he’s the one that made the study of magic what it is. even if a place doesn’t want me, nepotism is a strong thing, i’ll get in. it’s just a case of getting him back out there, after the last--”

He grew visibly uncomfortable.

“-- couple years.”

Something happened, something huge, something that not even Sans, in all his irreverence, was willing to get into. You didn’t want to pry, this wasn’t your business, but your curiosity was maddening.

“What are your plans for today?”

The atmosphere softened into something plush and easy once again.

“eh, gaster is kind of in a funk today. he likes his space, so i’m leaving him to it. gives me a chance to go see a film. the lights, the noises, they freak him out. hope there’s something good on. or something terrible. i’ll take either.”

His phone was beside you, face down. It buzzed to life, blasting the Pac Man noise at a level that made you self-conscious. You handed it over. He took it, answered, then coughed. The speaker was uncomfortably loud.

“... YOU’RE IN GRILLBY’S. I CAN TELL BY THE BACKGROUND NOISE.”

“i am.”

“AND YOU COUGHED.”

“i did.”

“YOU SET YOURSELF ON FIRE AGAIN, DIDN’T YOU.”

“papyrus, you can’t go around throwing out accusations like that. they cut me, bro. they cut deeper than you realize.”

“WAS IT A COCKTAIL.”

“it was a cocktail, yeah.”

“Tell him they’re amazing,” you said.

“she says they’re amazing.”

You heard an excited noise ring out down the phone.

“OH! OH I WAS JUST ABOUT TO CALL HER, PUT HER ON.”

“got it.”

He handed the phone back and you braced it to your ear.

“HELLO, SAUSAGE CASSEROLE!”

“Sausage casserole?”

“I’VE BEEN CALLING YOU FOOD THAT I LIKE BUT I’M STARTING TO RUN OUT OF CUTE ONES. ARE YOU BUSY TONIGHT?”

“No,” you said, “I was hanging out with Sans, but he’s going soon. Why?”

“YOU CAN SWING BY MINE, IT’S IN WALKING DISTANCE. YOU KNOW HOW TO GET THERE FROM THE BAR, RIGHT?”

You could make a guess or two.

“WE CAN WATCH SOMETHING! I HAVE BOXSETS TO CATCH UP ON. FAILING THAT, WELL,” he purred, “I CAN THINK OF _SOMETHING_ TO DO.”

Sans winced.

“dude, i’m right here.”

“SANS! THIS IS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION, DON’T SNOOP. HAVE YOU NO SHAME? HONESTLY! I’LL MEET YOU THERE, HUMAN. NOW, I SHOULD MENTION…”

You waited for him to mention what he should, in fact, mention.

“I’M IN THE CAR; I TRIED TO TAKE A SIDE ROAD TO SKIP THE TRAFFIC, BUT EVERYONE ELSE HAD THAT GREAT IDEA SO NOW I’M IN TRAFFIC. I AM A TRAFFIC. I MIGHT BE LATE COMING BACK, BUT IF NOBODY IS HOME TO LET YOU IN THERE’S A SPARE KEY IN THE BACK GARDEN, UNDER THE RAMBLERS AND NEAR THE FOXGLOVES.”

“What.”

“ADJACENT TO THE CARTHUSIAN PINK.”

“What.”

“ABREAST OF THE CATMINT.”

“Are you having a stroke.”

“JUST START TIPPING ROCKS IN THE BACK GARDEN LIKE A SAVAGE, YOU’LL FIND IT EVENTUALLY. IF SANS REMEMBERED TO PUT IT BACK. IF NOT, UM… WELL, LET’S HOPE HE HAS. I WON’T BE LONG. I HAVE TO GO, EVERYONE’S STARTING TO MOVE AND I DON’T WANT TO GET ARRESTED FOR BEING ON THE PHONE. SEE YOU IN A BIT! VAULT THE FENCE! BYE-BYE! TELL SANS I SAID BYE.”

“He says bye.”

“rad.”

Papyrus hung up. You downed your now cool drink in one gulp, finding it to be as delicious as it first was, then handed the phone over.

“well, i better get going. gotta go check what’s on. maybe smuggle some snacks in my ribcage.”

He stood up.

“realtalk, how many bags of popcorn you think i can fit in here? without it being obvious. i’m short, but i’m wide. six? or four and a drink.”

You looked him over, then nodded sagely.

“Three and a drink.”

He cursed.

“nacho status?”

“With dip, or without dip.”

“with. don’t you ever, ever say that to me again. with. holy shit.”

“It’s risky. It’s risky but if you shuffle you might be able to pull it off.”

“that’ll do. thanks for hanging out with me. i had fun.”

“Likewise,” you said, meaning it.

Before you left you put some money in the tip jar for Grillby. He nodded in appreciation, then went back to his duties.

 

* * *

 

After successfully navigating to Papyrus' home you found the car wasn’t parked outside. Papyrus was still a traffic. No matter; you knew where the key was and had been given full permission to use it. You made your way along the side of the house on the path, making a calculated effort not to look suspicious so as not to mistakenly raise any alarm bells but in the process made yourself look like the guiltiest creature alive. You reached the side gate, which came up to your chest. You went to unlock it then found it was secured with a new padlock. This was the vaulting portion of the evening. You could do this. You had legs. You could move them one in front of the other, and vaulting was like walking, but upwards, with the risk of serious permanent injury.

You braced your leg to the bottom, ornate portion of the fence, then swung the other across the top in a swift, graceless motion, bashing your groin and catching your tights in one fell swoop. You cursed loudly, unhooked your ruined tights and set about crossing the threshold. With a grunt of effort, a tenderized pubic mound and a pair of destroyed tights you lobbed your other leg over, losing your balance and falling painfully to your front. A few small scrapes and a bruised ego, but nothing permanently damaged. Proud of your effortless entrance, you moved into the back garden.

There was a thin light emanating from the back window. Papyrus liked to leave a lamp on to ward off home intruders, because if someone has the means to break into your home and steal your belongings then they’re going to be bested by a small light. You peered in but couldn’t make anything out, just the dimly lit couch and the slender black shadows it cast.

It was as lush and well kept as it always was. Bushes were pruned, the plants were watered and the petals were lush and velvety, lovely to look at even if the moonlight had tinted their vivid hues to warm and cool blues. In the corner was a bench, and in the furthest spot from the door was a shed. You looked for the stone that was ‘suggested in the chrysthanthemums’, or whatever it was he had said, you didn’t know your flowers. 

It occurred to you that the spot he had been talking about was a decorative element, made up entirely of stones, all about six inches wide and stacked on one another. You gingerly overturned the first one. There was no key. And then the next. No key. No longer giving a shit you dropped to your knees and began sorting through the stones, arranging them into a neat pile by your side. There, stuck in the tarp underneath like a tiny excalibur, was the key. You heaved it from its tarpy sheath and held it aloft, hand covered in some sort of thin, sticky film. Battered, bruised, and a potential candidate for King of the Britons, you set about gaining entry.

After successfully opening the back door, you threw it open to find Gaster sitting there with a glass of wine and a newspaper, staring at you. He sipped it, looking at you.

“Found the key, then.”

Your triumph went flaccid. You were not sure your pride could take another blow like this.

“Eventually. How much… How much did you see of that.”

“Oh,” he said. “You know. A tad.”

All of it, then.

“Congratulations on keeping your teeth, I considered calling a doctor.”

“... Wait, you were here the whole time, why didn’t you just let me in?”

“It was like watching a puppy. I didn’t have the heart to stop you, you looked so intent.”

“You’ve been sat here, drinking wine and watching me fall over.”

He smiled wryly.

_“Perhaps.”_

You looked to the key in your sticky hand, then to him. You went outside and placed it under a rock, near the top this time.

“Papyrus invited you over I assume,” Gaster said, “is he going to be late again?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you have such trouble with the key; surely he told you the rock was betwixt the shrubby hare’s ear and the begonias.”

“How can you all speak like this and live functional lives.”

There was an awkward silence, thick with forced civility.

“I… I thought you didn’t live here,” you said, making light conversation.  

“I don’t, but it is mine.”

“Why don’t you just… Live here permanently?”

“Do you always ask such pointed questions of strangers?”

He had you there. He put down his paper, then gestured to the garden behind you with his thin, wispish hand.

“My idea. I have a fondness for verdure. I find it calming. It reminds me of home, the pleasant parts.”

“There were plants like that in the Underground?”

The facade of civility fell.

“I wasn’t talking about the Underground. There’s more to Monsters than what we were reduced to.”

You went to bite back before conceding that no, he had another point.

“They’re both aware I have a key,” he said, too quickly, “they don’t mind. They know about this. I’m waiting for Sans to return from whatever it is he’s doing.”

“He’s watching a film. We met up before he left.”

“Ah, I see.”

He paused, squinting at the air.

“You smell charred. Did… Did he set himself on fire again.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the third time in as many years,” Gaster grumbled, “he’s lucky it’s difficult to burn a Monster otherwise he would be done for.”

He took another sip of his wine, and you felt he was appraising you as he would a bad painting. His long, slender stalk, that made up his ‘legs’ appeared to be crossed.

“Regarding Papyrus…”

He placed his paper to the side, settling his hands on his ‘knee’ in perfect equanimity.

“He speaks about you fondly, despite my distaste, and as begrudged as I am to admit it he’s very sincere in his affections. So I will come right out and say it now that you have given me the opportunity. If you hurt him,” Gaster said, enunciating crisply, “I’ll make your life hell.”


	11. Chapter 11

You looked at him, astonished.

“Pardon?”

“We both know fine well you heard me. He’s kind and jovial. But he’s spoiled and dangerously naive. You’re exploiting him because you think he’s amusing. Traipsing him from place to place in the hopes he'll say something cute. You don't know him, not at all. You'll only hurt him, long term.”

“Where do you get the nerve--”

“He’s content to believe a relationship can be all sunshine, rainbows, and little wrapped presents to one another, and it can. But not with you.”

“And why not?”

“Be--”

“Wait! I don’t care. You’re an old man making empty threats. Let me pass. There’s a terrible romance novel with my name on it.”  

“You are going to hear me out or so help me God, I will sprint the length of this room, launch myself like a cannonball and kick you in the tit. He can be happy but it can’t possibly be with you.”  

Your fists were clenched, you grit your teeth as you stormed by.

“Novelties.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Novelties,” he repeated, as you would a letter of the alphabet to a child, “that is what you are to each other. You can only get so far with novelties. It’s perverse.”

You weren’t going to take this. He didn’t even wear pants. You should have walked away, you were in the middle of doing so, but your temper flared and you spun on your heels and stormed back in.

“Why do you even care! You’re just his brother’s boyfriend!”

Gaster looked calm. His voice was deep and soothing, and if you weren’t paying attention to what he was saying it would almost be as if he were lulling you to sleep.

“I have a fondness for him. He reminds me of a mother hen. He wanders to and fro and makes quite a bit of noise. Fussing. You’ve spent time with him. You understand why he’s so endearing. He’s been kind to me, and I’m happy to repay the favour.”

A possibility occurred to you. Remote, but worth considering.

“Do you love him like you love Sans?”

He looked baffled then laughed, because you were a moron.

“Not quite. It’s a different sort of fondness. Warm.”

“Familial.”

The comment caught him off guard, but he didn’t dispute you. His steely gaze faltered, though he composed himself.

“God, what you’re both doing. It’s obscene. There’s a way to things and this is not it.”

“Times have changed,” you said, unflinching, “move on.”

“Come now, don’t project; just because your haircut happens to be stuck in the past doesn’t mean I am.”

You stared at one another.

“Novelties,” he said again.

“You’re saying that like you expect something to sink in.”

“I suppose I am,” he mused. “Tell me, girl. Do you know what happens to Monsters when they die?”

You do, but you had skimmed over the topic in your research, not wanting to dwell on something so morbid.

“They turn to dust.”

“Correct. But don’t expect a commendation for knowing a basic fact. Do you know how long Monsters can live for?”

Uh oh.

“... A while.”

“Oh,” he said with the predatory glee of a cat looking at a limp vole, “oh, now we’re getting to the meat of it.”

He laughed and it was a hollow, strange sort of noise. But you didn’t doubt that it was sincere.

“That happens to depend on what type of Monster you are. Some, like the king and queen, age when they bear children. Others age as you do. Some, very slowly.”

You saw something. You couldn’t place what it was.

“And with very, very few, not at all. And while it’s not a _perfect_ system, I’ve devised a rule of thumb for calculating who falls into what.”

He tapped his first finger.

“Kings, queens, royalty, they have their own system. Their own impenetrable little ‘class’. They age when their biological children do. God, the _inbreeding_ that must have went on in that line. That family tree is probably a circle, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I do know that the king and his ex-wife are cousins.”

Then, the second.

“Monsters with flesh. It can vary, depending on the person, on the family, on the line. But if I were to make a generalization, I would pin the age of death at… Eighty. Their bodies operate as yours does, with the exception of digestion. Cells, blood, matter. Based on magic, but close enough to resemble your own. It just so happens that if you were to stab one they would die in a puff of smoke, rather than a shower of gore. But if you’re worried, you shouldn’t; they’re both hilarious.”

Gaster looked at you meaningfully, counting down one more.

“‘Abstract’ Monsters. I’m aware the term itself is abstract, but bear with me. They _could_ be humanoid. Almost entirely magic, almost, with some lingering biological functions to take care of. Their bodies undergo the strain that yours will, that flesh will. Cells dividing, and dividing, and dividing until something gives up. But it takes _far, far longer_. I would put Papyrus in this category.”

Even in your anger, even as you bore the brunt of his bitterness, your curiosity compelled you to stay.

“How long,” you said.

“Two hundred years minimum, more if he keeps up his preening, which I think he should.”

“What are you?”

“Consider me ‘everything else’.”

He paused, before lifting his brows in consideration.

“If I were in your position I would hear all this and dig my heels in harder.”

“Then why say at all?”

“Because you should know what will happen.”  

You repeated yourself, “why say these things?”

“Because he never would. He thinks if he ignores it this topic will go away. He's both more cunning than I first suspected and somehow more callow. I sympathise more than you might think, and speaking as someone that is going to be in the very situation Papyrus will be forced to endure,” he said, “I’m presenting the facts he is shying away from. And he knows this is going to happen; I’ve more than spelled it out for him, but if he’s not going to deal with his reticence then I will. I don’t care for your kin. After the ‘war’ it would be difficult for me to muster up feelings of goodwill towards humanity. But you, you’re right in front of me, aren’t you. And I’m decent. It could be that things peter out over time, that you won’t be eternal soulmates yearning for each other while rolling around in a bed of roses. Or it could come to the point where you start talking about the house where you will grow old together and he’ll smile and nod and not say anything at all about what will come. He’ll grit his teeth and suppress the thought. He’s good at that.”  

The same situation Papyrus was to endure. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Sans--?”

Gaster cut you off.

“‘Puppy love’, he says, as if he’s not a pup himself.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“I know. Have you seen how Papyrus takes criticism? Pointed questions? Not my chaffing, either.”

Those times you had asked him about his image, the way he carried himself, when he would wince and cheerfully gloss over it like he was painting over his own cracks.

“He doesn’t respond.”

“Exactly. Now you can see me as a vicious, spiteful interloper intent on ruining whatever it is you have, I don’t care. But he would never, ever tell you. And neither would Sans. Someone has to. I’m not going to watch this farce unfold.”

“Convenient. Whatever happens is between me and him. Go to hell.”

“Good luck. It’s very hard to burn things like me. I know.”

He chuckled, darkly. All noise and no laughter.

“Better than anyone; I know.”   

You went to retort before becoming hung up on that specific sentence. What was he talking about? He looked distant, staring through you as if he was focusing on the wall, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Remembering to water the plants later.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s hard to burn a Monster. You can, but you need to put a lot of effort into it. A lot.”

… Why was he still talking about this? You didn’t ask, you didn’t care. You were in the middle of an argument, this wasn’t the Exposition Corner with Professor Cockwarble. This was the worst lecture you had ever attended.

“Fire doesn’t take and lava didn’t, either.”

He looked at you, registering you as a person in his presence once again, looking deeply embarrassed at his lapse. You furrowed your brows at his remarkably specific turn of phrase, thinking. He looked pensive, dark, frail and pensive. And now he looked weary. The creature that would stalk your dreams as a child looked like he could be snapped in half. And that he wanted to be. 

“What is it like to be so fragile?”

“You tell me,” you said. “You’re the one that started hurling insults.”

He blinked, then actually laughed.

“A fair point.”

There was an uneasy silence. You put two and two together, from what Gaster had let slip and what Sans and Papyrus refused to talk about. Their unease. Their hesitance. You didn’t know the specifics but the clues had slot into place with a grim crunch. His talks of burning, Sans’ defensiveness, Papyrus’ attempts to gloss over the secret you had been so curious about, the fact Aphys was the current Royal Scientist. You could spot it a mile away.

He had been dismissed after a failed suicide attempt. At work? It must have been. It made sense.

As angry as you were you couldn’t help but pity him. And from the look in his eyes, he now knew that you knew. You took a deep breath.

“Look--”

“Don’t pity me,” he said, confirming it, “I get enough of it from them.”

“I’m… I don’t really know what to say.”

“Say nothing, never bring it up again. Now if you’re done incessantly poking at things you really shouldn’t we can get back to my point; when you’re pushing eighty he will be as spry as he was yesterday.”   

“Then we’ll enjoy the time we spend together now.”

“You have the luxury of being able to make that statement. You don’t have to worry, because you will be dead. You have the opportunity to be selfish and I see you’re grabbing it with your sweaty hands as opposed to breaking his heart for what would be, frankly, a _month_ at most and letting him live out the rest of his life in bliss with a partner that won’t potentially die from sneezing.”

That… Was a good point. You scolded yourself for considering it that.

“I’m saying this to spare your feelings. Believe it or not, I sympathize.”

“Would you be giving this talk to a Monster that shared my lifespan?”

“Yes,” he said, but you didn’t believe him.

The atmosphere was thick, dense and sickly, like that of a hospital. You had stood up for yourself, but you didn’t feel triumphant, and Gaster now lacked the vicious glee he had tried to cling to. There was no vindication, here.

Before you could speak Papyrus whistled his way into the living room, spinning his key on his finger and flicking on the light.

“I BROUGHT POPCORN!”

You both looked at him. He looked back, his face falling.

“IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?”

“Lifespan,” you said in unison. He tensed visibly, smile stuck to his face. His voice was quieter, with a harder edge, and it hit you that he wasn’t angry, he was furious. This was different than the cute foot stomping and arm waving, scrunching his eyes shut and raising his voice. You could barely hear him.

“GASTER?”

“Yes, Papyrus?”

_“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.”_


End file.
